The Passion Serpent
by RosaMystery
Summary: Did you know there was an old, abandoned tower in Hogwarts where Draco Malfoy used to practise his magic, & sometimes played his violin? Time is fleeting; school years at Hogwarts come to an end. Does the Wizarding World or Hermione know who Draco is?
1. Prologue

**Story Notes:**_ In this fan fiction, most of the events that took place in the Harry potter series would remain unchanged and this is, in fact, quite important for the way this story will take shape; except of course, the epilogue, as written in the book, would not have occurred. That is, for our purpose, the HP series will be ending without the epilogue...In fact, all you have to do is bear what happens in the Harry Potter series in mind.  
>I think that if ever romance was given a chance to evolve between Draco &amp; Hermione, their love would have been of the explosive and passionate kind - instead of the quiet and friendly pairing of Ron and Hermione that has been done in the books. I believe that Draco's and Hermione's love can create thrilling sparks! They are both witty and intelligent, and they hate each other! However, if that pairing was a given a chance in the series, the story would probably have strayed and would not have focused on Harry Potter.<br>Read this fan fiction if you want to know whether, ignoring the epilogue in HP7, Hermione will indeed end up with Ron or with Draco. Even though I loved the Harry Potter series, I also tend to focus a lot on characters and wonder what is going on in their minds. Draco had me wondering much of what kind of a person he truly is. He intrigues me. I like to think there is way more to him than what we get to know in the books. In my opinion, we never learn who he is in the books and, therefore, I'll be adding Draco's take on things - how he views events, what he feels, and how he changes during those seven years at Hogwarts and in the final battle against Voldemort. You'll learn about his secret thoughts, his person, and his passions; witness how he ends up losing himself completely…After all, don't they say…lose yourself first; once you've been drowned in the darkest depth of despair and resurfaced, you'll find the real you. After that is done, our Real Story, set in the post–Hogwarts era, will start ;o)  
><em>

**Chapter Notes:** _This prologue is a scene from "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban". This scene is not included in the books but for the sake of this fan fiction, you'll be allowed a secret glimpse into what happened between Draco & Hermione in one particular scene. If you go back and read this part in the book, you'll see that this scene does fit. Of course it will, since it has occurred for real; only J. K. Rowling omitted from mentioning it … ;) ;) ;)_

_ Thank you J. K. Rowling for having already imagined such an amazing magical world...all I'm doing now is some embroidery work ;)..._

**Prologue**

**A secret glimpse into a past**  
><strong>Shared by two young souls<strong>  
><strong>Forgotten by one<strong>  
><strong>Remembered by the other<strong>  
><strong>A secret glimpse into the birth<strong>  
><strong>Of a love impossible, forbidden<strong>  
><strong>Forgotten by one<strong>  
><strong>Agony for the other<strong>  
><strong>A secret glimpse into passions<strong>  
><strong>That arose like a phoenix from ashes<strong>  
><strong>Forgotten by one<strong>  
><strong>Burning alive the other…<strong>

Malfoy strutted off at an angry pace away from Hogwarts castle's doors. A strange, cloud filled obscurity seemed to envelope him. He was fuming, and you could almost feel the air freeze as the cold, thunderous rage inside of him diffused into the area immediately around him. All the other students who were casually strolling down the corridors in between classes, whether they were younger or older wizards, parted in a sea of dark robes for the blond-haired boy with fire raging in his eyes to pass.

Professor Flitwick, who was on his way to his Charms class, blended with the smaller first years as all of them wondered what had caused Draco Malfoy to change from a usually cool-headed, arrogant and detached bully into a seething cauldron of frosty ire. Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost who was gliding alongside the students, stopped just in time to avoid Draco passing through him.

"I urgently need a mantle for protection against this strange, unholy hoarfrost in the air!" Nearly Headless Nick muttered, shuddering.

For the first time since he had been at Hogwarts, Malfoy felt humiliating tears smarting at the back of his eyes. Crabbe and Goyle were having a most difficult time keeping up with his frenzied pace! Crabbe cleared his portly voice that seemed to have turned into a tiny squeak, intimidated by the queer, intensely negative, not to mention, slightly scary vibes emanating from the tall, blond Slytherin with the intense silver grey eyes tinged with azure, and called:

"Malfoy, Malfoy, wait for us! Why are you walking so fast anyway? Wait!" Malfoy ignored them and kept on walking ahead, feeling his insides boil with a maddening rage.

"Is it because Mudblood Grang-" Goyle started asking, but was instantly cut off by a very incensed Malfoy.

"Clamp those oversized hippopotamus mouths shut! I don't want to hear a word! Get the hell out of my sight, both of you! Now!" Malfoy shouted back at them without turning, and his dark green Slytherin robes slashed through the air as he disappeared around a corner. Stunned, but partly relieved that they could escape Draco's company when he was in such foul mood, Crabbe and Goyle retraced their steps and headed towards the Great Hall in order to have a second go at the Meringue Ghosts and Pumpkin breads they had relished so much at lunch, an hour ago.

Meanwhile, Draco's footsteps could be heard resounding on the wide spiral staircase that led to the Slytherin common room found in the dungeon. The stone walls were lit with bright burning torches that had a distinctly emerald glow. Peeves, the mischievous and unruly poltergeist, could be heard cackling further down; no doubt busy bothering the younger Slytherins.

Suddenly, an idea struck Malfoy, and as he stopped abruptly to consider his options, his heart studded so fast it nearly propelled him forward. The greenish glow from the torch reflected in his lovely silver-grey eyes and made him appear devilishly scary. His harsh, jagged breaths came out at an increasingly brisk pace, and he at once swung around, running back through the corridor, his hungry eyes scouring the sea of frightened faces for one particular person.

Granger. Where the hell was that Mudblood? She should be in her Charms class, thought Draco. Back there, she had succeeded in stunning him with that harsh slap across the face. And he had walked away, anger consuming him so completely that he did not trust himself not to combust in flames right there in front of them. Now that he had somewhat cooled down and cleared his muddled mind, he was determined not to let Granger walk free. She would pay and end up begging for mercy. He would drag her out of class and teach her a good lesson even if he had to curse everyone in there in order to be able to do so.

As Draco raced towards Professor Flitwick's class, he caught a bushy head of a hair in the corner of his eye. That had to be Granger! She was not in class and was quickly scurrying away from Potty and Weasel who were not paying any attention to her. Clearly they were still on cloud nine after having witnessed him, Draco, being slapped by a most despicable Mudblood!

Granger, for some obscure reason, seemed to be in quite a hurry and was heading towards the Gryffindor common room. Draco was lucky, for no one else was in sight.

"Not so fast, Mudblood!" called Draco at the top of his voice as he raced towards her and saw Hermione turning around, taken aback but her hand already moving to her wand.

"Silencio! Immobulus!" cried Draco in quick succession as he cast the spells that at once silenced Hermione and caused her to immediately freeze on the moving staircase, respectively. Draco ran to where Hermione stood staring at him with apprehensive eyes, but unable to say anything or to make the tiniest of movement. The figures in the paintings on the wall had all rushed to one particular painting. It was one in which a romantic couple had been dining by candlelight, but were now struggling not be squeezed out of their picture. They all stood transfixed at what was happening in front of them.

Draco snatched the strange-looking pocket watch Hermione held in her hands, and at once identified the quaint object to be a Time-Turner. A devilish glint came into his eyes as he thought of the place he would like to land back in time and turned the clock half an hour back, grabbing the arm of inert Hermione with him.

They landed right away in one of the highest, abandoned tower of Hogwarts castle. Its ceiling was very high and tapered up in a spire. Large, arched windows surrounded the tower, and the lofty trees of the Forbidden Forest seemed very near, gently swaying in the wind. Mountain ranges, draped in misty clouds, could be seen far away at the horizon.

Draco snatched Hermione's wand and stowed it safely away inside one of the pockets of his robe, and at the same time pointed his own wand at the floor, whispering spells that cleared the broken marble floor of debris so that he could walk unimpeded. Even if it was broad daylight, the inside of the tower was quite dark. Candles, both new and used, as well as books, were strewn haphazardly around the place. Malfoy muttered spells that lit the candles, instantly lending a warm glow to the tower, and said the counter-curses that freed Hermione from the two hexes she was under the spell of.

"What do you think you are doing, you imbecile?" shrieked Hermione at once, moving towards Draco but stopped short seeing how incensed he looked.

"Shut your filthy mouth!" Draco shot back, advancing dangerously towards Hermione, who was instinctively taking some steps back away from him.

"Who the hell do you think you are, you repugnant, ugly Granger? How dare you slap me in front of Potty and Weasel? How dare you raise your bloody, dirty hands to Draco Malfoy? You hideous banshee!" Malfoy asked, his temper rising ever higher, as did the pitch of his voice.

"Malfoy, calm down! You deserved that slap down there! You kept getting on our nerves with your provocations, and this time it was one drop too much when you called Hagrid-"

"I asked you to shut that dirty mouth of yours, Mudblood! Notwithstanding the fact that it stinks, it disgusts me to be in your presence. It disgusts me to be here up with you, but you need to be taught a lesson you will never forget! You would not dare come anywhere near me afterwards!" Malfoy bit back at her and pushed her harshly against the crumbling stone wall; effectively trapping her between the wall and his body.

"So, Granger, tell me," hissed Malfoy quietly, "did it make you feel good? Did you actually relish the way you expressed your relief at how Weasel and Potty were back to talking to you again?"

"What, what do you mean?" asked Hermione, puzzled at his odd question.

"Don't try to play more dumb than you are already are, Mudblood!" Malfoy warned angrily.

Hermione cringed at the appellation. "I don't know what you are getting at, Malfoy! Leave me – let me go!" She tried wriggling away from Malfoy but his hands reached out at her elbows, clasping them firmly.

"What I mean is that your slap was not your actual anger at me, Granger! I might have called Hagrid 'pathetic', but that isn't what caused you to get physical with me." He paused before continuing in a quieter, more ominous tone. "You had been upset, Granger, long before I said anything. Yes, you've been distressed since your cat, Crookshanks, isn't it, apparently ate Weasel's rat Scabbers!"

Hermione stilled at his astute observation and looked up at his eyes. It was a mistake, for their surreal intensity quite mesmerized her.

"What are- are you getting at Malfoy you- You-" Hermione tried to find words, but for the first time, they were failing her.

"Can't find your way?" asked Malfoy, a sneer dancing at the corner of his mouth. "I'll tell you. The sudden bout of anger you showed down there was because of your relief more than anything else. Do you think I didn't notice your frequent visits to Hagrid's cottage these last days? Did you not cry your heart out with that big oaf, as your only friend? Did I not see you crying whenever you thought you were alone?"

"But I- But- I-"

"Reduced to a stammering fool, Granger? It hardly surprises me. Yes, you were very upset because you felt guilty that your cat hurt ratty Weasel's rat! And when Potty and Ratty were no longer talking to you, it quite tormented you… Didn't it? So today, one word you hear from me and you fly in a rage, hitting me in front of your friends! Did you think it made me feel good? I once thought that you had the ability to think, Granger. I was wrong," continued Malfoy. Hermione could not find anything with which to refute him.

"When you hit me, you did so with the confidence of having your two best friends by your side. You did so because you were relieved they were talking to you again. You did so out of allegiance to them; to show where your loyalty lied. That physical blow was a way for you to leave behind the tension and angst that had gripped you the past days." Malfoy paused. Hermione's heart was beating so hard in her throat. Malfoy was getting scarier with every passing second.

"Take it out on Malfoy, the inner you whispered. Slap the worthless git in front of dear Harry and Ron. They would see how I am on their side! They would see how I too despise Malfoy. They would always admire me after this," Malfoy continued ruthlessly.

"Isn't that what passed in the brainless head of yours, Granger? You loved finally letting go of your frustrations by using me! Didn't you?" he asked in a deceivingly soft way, and did not let Hermione answer as he continued. "WELL, I HATED IT YOU FILTHY SLIME! I AM NOT ONE TO BE MESSED WITH! I AM NOT ONE WHO WOULD ACCEPT TO BE THE SCAPEGOAT ON WHOM MISS MUDBLOOD, STUPID GRANGER WILL LET GO OF HER FRUSTRATIONS ON, GET THAT?" Malfoy shouted hotly, letting anger and hurt consume him utterly. His eyes were flashing with fire, and it was not surprising how Hermione felt as if she was being scorched by the blaze.

Hermione was on the brink of bawling her eyes out, but courageously blinked back the tears.

"No, no, Malfoy I didn't, I didn't, you, it was-" she stammered, at a total loss for words. Strange, distressing emotions were further scorching her inside. She could recognize some truth in Malfoy's words, and she could not begin to fathom how he could be so young and be so very perceptive. Maybe it was that keen perceptiveness that allowed him to identify other's weaknesses and exploit them. Wouldn't that also mean that if you could pinpoint other's weak points, that you were also very likely to hide your own? What was his?

"Malfoy, what …what are...are you trying to do? If this is re…revenge-" stammered a bewildered Hermione, but Malfoy cut her again in mid-sentence by advancing so near to her that she felt the wall piercing into her back as she cowered as far into it as she could. He stared at her with his tempestuous eyes. There were so dark and clouded, Hermione felt a chill run down her spine, and felt as if nothing she said would get across to him. But still, she tried.

"Malfoy, stop! You'll regret this!" screamed Hermione as Malfoy grabbed her waist with one hand and slammed her small, soft body into the harder wall of his. Hermione had never been that close to a boy. She had never before even thought of how firm a boy's body could be, compared to her own. But now, those differences were fast slipping into her consciousness. Malfoy kept looking down into her big, brown, frightened eyes. His free hand pointed his wand at a particularly large brick that had fallen off the wall and transfigured the latter into white floor cushions. He must have practiced transfiguring bricks into cushions quite often to have done that with so much ease, Hermione registered dimly. What for, she found her addled mind wondering.

"Now that's funny, do you think I'm going to kiss your filthy lips, Mudblood?" scoffed Malfoy, his lips curling with disdain. "Scared, aren't you? I can feel your heartbeat racing like a mad train…" he drawled, and pressed himself even closer to her. Hermione's eyes widened with surprise.

"Malfoy, let-let me go-" Hermione started saying, trying to unlock her jaws that still felt like it was under the Silencio spell, but was unable to finish her sentence as Malfoy brought his mouth crashing down onto hers. At first she was too dazed to react as he practiced a most artful dance on her lips that made her feel as if she was hovering a few inches above the ground. The kiss was not awkward as the first kiss of two youngsters could be. No, in fact, the kiss felt as if they had suddenly grown beyond their years! An image flashed into her mind; that of a burning fire under the rain...!

The most bizarre thing was that Hermione felt as if her heart had viciously crashed against a wall of warmth, fuzziness, something with much more than a feeling of home. It had to be what they say about souls recognising each other! But they were so young...!

It was surreal and mystifying.

However, it seemed as if Draco realised that they were a bit too comfortable, and his kiss became more and more like a punishing assault. As her senses gradually came back to her, she started wriggling ineffectually in his arms.

He pushed Hermione roughly down onto the cushions; fastening both of her wrists high above her head as one of his black boots pinned both of her ankles painfully down, preventing her from further struggling. Hermione bit at Draco's lips and he unclamped his mouth from hers, looking deep into her eyes, as if searching her soul; both of them breathing hard.

Hermione was trembling and reeling with shock, for she still could not fathom that Malfoy, the one who hated all Muggle-borns, would condescend to even coming that near to her. And where had that feeling of utter warmth come from? Was she hallucinating? But no, she reminded herself, he was not coming near to her...God no…he was…he was…

"Leave me, Malfoy! I'll re-report this you-you brute, let me go!" cried Hermione, feeling utterly powerless in his arms as a sudden, terrifying realization struck her. He would not stoop that low, she kept convincing herself, he would not! They were very young and...and...

"Ha…you'll report this, will you, Mudblood?" smirked Malfoy, a crazy light still dancing in the depth of his eerie silver-grey eyes.

"Yes...yes, I will – let me go, Malfoy! You are a foul-" Again Hermione was unable to continue her sentence as Malfoy placed his forefinger on her lips.

"Ssshhh…foul…yea, that was the word you used a few moments back, when you slapped me in front of your gloating friends, right? Foul and evil…I'll show you what foul and evil truly are, Granger!" Malfoy said in a dangerously quiet tone, bringing his lips merely inches from Hermione's. His hold at her wrists tightened, hurting her, and his boot dug even deeper into the soft skin at her ankles; her thin socks providing little protection.

"Mal…Malfoy…you can't...you won't…I'll –I'll report you and you'll be expelled!" Hermione muttered feebly, scared like she had never been before. Scared of this maddened Malfoy, and scared of the strange sensations inside of her. One of his hands was tracing languid circles at her waist over her robe, and it was starting to make normal breathing difficult. Rather, she found herself breathing rather heavily.

"But who'll believe you, Granger? Who will believe that I, Draco Malfoy, a renowned hater of repulsive, vile Mudbloods such as you, will deign so much as to stoop unbearably low to even touch the revolting person you are?"

"Stop it, Malfoy!" cried Hermione desperately, feeling her heart strangely breaking to pieces inside. That was nothing unusual from Malfoy. But why was it hurting her so much at that moment, Hermione thought. Was it because it was the first time Malfoy was so close to her and telling her what he thought of her, to her face? Was it because he was making her so swiftly become aware of the physical differences between a boy and a girl? Was it because, for an unforgettable moment, she had felt inexplicably close to him?

Hermione had never thought of Malfoy as anything other than a spineless tormentor, but now, up close, she could see a bottomless depth behind those expressive silver-grey eyes with the cerulean hues. So close to him, she was fast becoming aware of his handsome sharp features, of those red pomegranate lips that should, normally, have belonged only to some poor, starving and romantic poet freezing in his garret. She was noticing those amazingly long lashes of his; lashes witches would probably be stepping onto each other's dresses in order to have. Maybe she felt deeply hurt because she was noticing his extreme physical attractiveness when he was bent on telling her about her own repulsiveness, and showing to her how much he hated her.

"Stop what, Granger? You don't really think that I'm kissing or loving you, are you?" laughed Malfoy chillingly. "It is not 'Stop it, Malfoy' that you should be saying," Malfoy continued relentlessly, mimicking Hermione's scared, trembling voice accurately. "You should be saying, 'Have pity on me, Malfoy, I regret what I did' and, you can also add, 'I am a trashy, worthless Mudblood, and I won't come near you again'. Try saying that, I might be less rough with you," said Malfoy in that still cold, quiet tone of his that bristled with menace, his lips quirking even more as he enjoyed Hermione's plight.

"You can keep dreaming, Malfoy! You are despicable! I hate you more than anything else, you insane de-" Hermione started saying, her voice rising; her fright and hurt lay momentarily forgotten as Malfoy, yet again, caused her temper to get the better of her. However, once more, Malfoy prevented her from finishing her sentence by forcing his lips brazenly onto that of Hermione's; who helplessly tried to fight back. After a short while, Malfoy released her lips, breathing hard.

"Enjoying this as much as I am, are you, Granger? No? What, clever Granger cannot think of a way to extricate herself from this cleft stick? Poor Mudblood, still holding onto your crappy pride? I'm telling you, I will soil you through and through, and once I'm over with you, you'll think twice before coming anywhere near me again, you disgusting Mudblood! You'll feel dirty, and you will quietly accept yourself as a Mudblood. Also, you should know that I care not whether you hate me or not. But, you should be aware that, at this moment, I'm feeling nothing for you but loathing," Malfoy whispered savagely next to her ear as the hand that had been tracing sensuous circles at her waist grabbed a fistful of her robe in anger.

Hermione could not stop the tears that flowed from her eyes, and as Malfoy made for her lips once again, she turned her head; but Malfoy pursued and claimed her lips back even if she felt him becoming more and more hesitant. Was he starting to feel dirty too, by kissing her?

"Stop it, Draco, st-stop!" cried Hermione weakly as all fight left her body. How could he talk like that? That was not how teens of their age expressed themselves, she thought! What could have made him say such things; how could he feel things so intensely? How could he say things that could hurt so much without him having resort to actual physical violence! What made him become like that? There were so many questions which were assailing her and she had an answer to none! She was not aware that Malfoy had stilled when she called him 'Draco' for the first time ever.

"I'm sorry, Draco…sorry…" she mumbled, not realising that he had released her the moment she had stopped fighting him. Draco felt all his rage evaporate in an instant, and a deep sense of shame and self-disgust overwhelmed him. He had broken her pride, but he strangely felt as if it was he who was dissolving.

"Oh, get up, Granger!" he urged her as he gracefully got up to his feet. Hermione stayed in the same position he had previously pinned her down in; with her arms raised above her head, her tears drenching her cheeks.

"Granger, I said stop crying!" he said, more distressed than he'd ever admit to himself from seeing her making such a miserable figure. He had chosen words that intended to hurt her, but they had been words that were breaking her. Whatever he had said to her were mere words - never would he have stooped so low as to assault her! Physical assaults were for cowards; he had only wanted to frighten her. He had not liked it when she had exclaimed that she hated him, and, regrettably, he had been unable to retract the fiend that lived in his mouth that wanted to hurt and wound whoever made him feel vulnerable.

Indeed, Draco never cared about what others thought about him, but Hermione's words had a way of always hitting home, and it made him feel exposed. He had wanted to hit back at her; to make his words reach the core of her, and he despised himself for having succeeded.

"I said enough, Granger!" he said in a softly admonishing tone, detesting himself for having frightened her and making her so upset. Why was he feeling as if the tears that were escaping from her eyes were flowing to his heart? What did Granger have that other girls did not? What did Granger, a mere Muggle-born, have that had made him attribute so much importance to her; to how she was feeling, to how she thought about him?

Draco knelt down and gently brought her hands back to her sides. Hermione raised inquiring eyes at him, and he tenderly stroked away the tears from her face. Draco reached for his handkerchief inside his robe and, helping her rise in a sitting position, he placed the handkerchief at her nose, silently urging her to blow in it. Hermione did so and gaped as Draco smiled sadly at her openly shocked and bemused face.

It was the first time she had seen him genuinely smile and he looked stunning. She felt blown away by everything that had happened in the past half an hour. It was the first time she had seen an emotion in him that was different from haughtiness, indifference or spite.

"You should close those jaws, lest an owl flies into it!" laughed Draco, and Hermione quickly closed her lips, but could not help not staring at him. His laughter illuminated his face, and her racing heartbeat was being driven by an emotion that had nothing to do with fear.

Not fear, no, it was awe.

"What happened? Did you see a ghost, Granger?" Draco joked in a light-hearted manner, a slight twitch on his lips.

"Dra-Draco, are you-are you- feel-feeling al-alright?" Hermione tried asking in between embarrassing hiccups, unsure how to talk to this strange, disturbingly attractive and more human Malfoy. Her eyes could still not believe that Draco had smiled at her and had just asked her to blow her nose in his handkerchief! Earth had surely toppled upside down!

Draco's smile faded and his eyebrows quirked in concern. "You are asking me about how I am feeling when it is you who has been put under a silencing spell, immobilized, forcefully abducted, disarmed, pushed against a wall, pinned down on cushions, and have had to undergo an assault over your lips, and," he paused, "been hurt by words so vile that they define who I am?" Draco finished; his last sentence, a mere whisper.

His silver-grey eyes freckled with sapphire had turned almost violet due to the intensity with which he gazed at her. Hermione felt as if dragons were dancing inside of her, instead of the fluttering butterflies. She had no idea whether she was dreaming or awake, and neither did those details seem important. It is strange how she at once felt disoriented, lost, but oddly exhilarated nonetheless.

"After all this…" Malfoy continued, "you ask me how I am feeling? For all your intelligence, can you get any more stupid, Granger?" Malfoy sighed as he sat down on the cushions next to her.

"It is yourself that you need to be concerned about, foolish Granger! Are you okay?" Draco asked softly, with a tortured expression in his eyes.

"I'm…I'm okay, Dra-Draco. It's alright. I'm- I'm not hurt," Hermione stammered uncharacteristically, still unable to avert her eyes from Draco's face; queerly anxious to wipe out that agonized expression from his. What was happening? Had they been transported to some parallel universe? Why was she thinking like a grown up? Why was he behaving like some chivalrous knight, offering his handkerchief for her to blow her nose in and comforting her? Teenagers their age did not behave like that, did they? They did not feel things as intensely as she was feeling, did they?

"These tear stains on your face..." Draco paused as he gently traced his thumb and forefinger on her cheeks, "and these reddened lips," Draco tenderly delineated her lips with his fingers, "tell a different story and… You are shivering, Granger," Malfoy observed, and at once pointed his wand at a heap of rotting, wooden beams in a dark corner which, a few seconds later, became alight with a cozy fire. Nevertheless, the dawdling, fizzy and heady warmth that was spreading inside Hermione's body had another source altogether. Draco. She had to be dreaming, Hermione convinced herself, and if she was, she hoped that she would not wake up for another hour; rather not for another day; or maybe, not for at least another week.

"If I was a Muggle," Draco started saying with a wistful look on his face, "I would have given you my coat so as the cold does not get to you…but I'm a wizard, and I can easily conjure up a fire with my wand; thereby missing the opportunity to gallantly wrap you up in my robe. Muggles. They sure get many opportunities to be romantic," Draco commented.

Hermione was caught unawares at the next words that came from her very own lips: "But you are not an ordinary Muggle, Draco. You are a wizard and you made a fire. If we had both been Muggles, and you had given me your coat, I would still have felt cold…but the fire you have just created has banished away the cold altogether… That is much more gallant... Thank you…" Did she just say that? She never felt as if she was superior to Muggles as even her parents were Muggles! She just, at that moment, did not feel Draco to simply be an ordinary young boy. And was she going mad, or had he called Muggles romantic?

Draco studied the puzzled expression on her face, and her eyes that had that faraway look even if they were focused on his face.

"You must be wondering if I have gone mad, aren't you, Granger?" Draco smiled again and her heart did a back flip, or was that a somersault, or was that-

"I must be dreaming…" Hermione muttered half to herself, and nearly pinched herself before stopping, realising for a second time that if she was indeed dreaming, she did not want to wake up.

"You might be…or you will be," muttered Draco mysteriously, and to distract her, asked, "What is this Time-Turner for Granger? You, above anyone else, probably know that it is unsafe to play around with time! How come you have one with you?" He had drawn out the strange timepiece from his robe and was examining it.

"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione as she realized how she came here in the first place. "Give me that, we should be go-" Hermione reached for the Time-Turner but Draco threw it in the air, catching it back with his other hand and held it back from her.

"I will give it to you, Granger, but we will go back when I decide to," Draco said, his eyes colliding with Hermione's, and she received another jolt of electricity inside of her. No, she was almost certain these were not things that other young teenagers of their age could feel. Did Draco feel that too?

"I…I…Professor McGonagall lent it to me so that I could catch up with all my classes. We should not be here, we should go back, Draco!" Hermione said halfheartedly, secretly hoping that he would not listen to her.

"Can I touch you…there, Granger?" Draco asked, effectively ignoring what she had said, his teasing smile illuminating his face. He was downright gorgeous, thought Hermione, but as what he had just said slowly permeated through to her mind, she turned beetroot red all over and felt her face heating up.

"What? You- What- You just- Have you gone MAD?" Hermione managed to say breathlessly, even though her tongue felt plastered to the roof of her mouth.

"Relax, Granger, I'm just pulling your legs. Besides, that is just a Muggle song!" Draco laughed, winking at her and reached around Hermione's side. Hermione held her breath as he twisted over her without touching her, gracefully levering himself from where he sat to lie next to her on the cushions.

His arms were now propped against his handsome blond head as he lay on his side, looking at Hermione with those devastating, sparkling, ocean grey eyes. He was truly mesmerizing, thought Hermione. Wait a second, had he just casually avowed that he listened to Muggle songs? Hermione was on the point of questioning him when he, once again, managed to baffle her.

"You're a beautiful girl, Granger," Malfoy drawled sexily, leaving Hermione looking as if a troll had just thumped her on the head: stunned. Her mouth made a perfect O and would have stayed so if Malfoy had not reached up and closed her chin, still with that maddeningly gorgeous smile playing on his lips.

"And I'm sorry," he said, the tone of his voice changing from teasing playfulness to grave.

Hermione blinked once, twice, and, finally realising that she had heard well, asked:

"Sorry? For-for what?"

"Sorry for the way I've been treating you, Granger, sorry for calling you Mudblood…" he trailed off.

"Oh, Draco, it's okay, it's enough that you are now-" Hermione started saying but was cut off, mid-stride, by Draco as he had once again placed his finger on her lips.

"Don't be so quick, Granger, I haven't quite finished," Draco continued. "I also apologise for all the times in the future that I'll be calling you by that foul epithet," Draco said.

"I don't understand, what do you mean?" asked a puzzled Hermione.

Malfoy sat up and, in doing so, towered above Hermione by a few inches. Hermione's eyes greedily reached up to him.

"I mean that it is not the last time that I'll be calling you 'Mudblood', and I'm truly sorry for it. I admire you, Granger, you are a wonderful girl. You are prepared to do anything for your friends, and you are often their staunchest support. I would have liked to have someone like you near me," Draco confessed to Hermione, who found herself wondering yet again whether she had not really died and was now hovering on a strange plane between life and death.

Giving herself a mental shake, she said, "Draco, we can be friends, too! There is no reason why Gryffindor cannot mingle with Slytherin and vice versa, there is no reason why we should not sit at the table together and be –"

"No, Granger," he cut her off. "I don't want to be your friend," he said. Hermione lowered her head; her eyes started scrutinizing the floor, for she had no idea how to explain the tears that were suddenly swimming in them. What was Draco doing to her? What was she letting him do to her? How come every single word of his arrowed straight to her heart? What were these jumbles of emotions that were currently assailing her?

"Look at me, Granger," urged Draco, gently taking her chin in his hand and turning her face so that she looked at him. "I don't want you only as a friend. I think I've had a crush on you ever since I remember. But now, I don't think that it is a crush, or mere infatuation anymore. I think I'm falling for you, Granger…" He paused, looking deep into her soul, before continuing, "And if I don't distance myself very far from you physically, or alienate you through my words whenever I address you, I'm afraid it might turn to suicidal obsession…"confessed Draco, oh so softly.

His voice ran down the entire length of her body, making her shiver with something she had never felt before! It was like the caress of a feather that tickled her skin, and at the same time made her blood feel like viscous honey inside. What was that, she wondered? Was it pleasure? How come Draco was making her aware of her own body at a level she had never paid attention to before? And how could he talk like that? Where were those mature sounding words coming from? Had he always been like that? How could she have been so blind before? No, she was not totally blind. She had always known that Draco was quite intelligent and very observant, even if she would never have admitted it before. She had not known that he could be so passionate.

In fact, it was queer how she felt that they were not merely two young people talking; instead, it felt as if they were communicating with each other's ancient souls. Certainly, that had to be what was happening, thought Hermione. She was thinking in a way that she had never done before, in words she did not know the origin of, and was feeling things that could not be felt by students in only their third year at Hogwarts!

"You- You-I-what-I-" stammered Hermione incoherently. She seemed to be doing that a lot around him!

"You don't need to answer me, Granger; it was just something I had to get off my chest. I know that you only think me as an unfeeling, arrogant jerk, and I also know that we are not fated to be together," he paused shortly. Draco, too, was realising that inexplicable things were happening between them, and whatever he was telling her came from the core of him.

"You'll probably end up with Potter or Weasley, though I'm more inclined to think it will be Weasley, because he is very protective of you. He's always trying to defend you against me, and each time, I just want to rip his head off for doing so. I hate seeing the grateful light in your eyes each time he stands up against me! Still, you'll probably be happier with either of them. There is this rift between us that cannot be breached-" Draco broke off and turned away, staring morosely in space. His beautiful blond profile moved Hermione. Was she suddenly falling for him too?

"I can see no rift between us, Draco… We are so close…see?" whispered Hermione as she lowered her eyes, feeling incredible shy as her hand tentatively reached out to his arms, causing him to turn to face her. She did not know why it felt so important to stress how much she believed what she was saying to be true; that it was not impossible between Draco and her.

"You should not have said that, Hermione… Sweet…sweet Hermione," Draco whispered, his intense, bluish-grey eyes speared through her. He brought his face near to hers and touched her lips with his own in a butterfly caress. He deepened the contact between them and kissed her slowly, sensually, and with so much heartbreaking tenderness that tears flowed from Hermione's eyes. Draco kissed her tears away before reclaiming her lips back in that loving passion. Her face felt burning hot, and it was as if her blood was heating up on smouldering coals.

When he broke the kiss, she thought she glimpsed how dying felt like. She felt that life was slipping away from her, and she tightened her arms that had somehow wound their way around Draco's waist. Draco smiled at her, and she managed to find her voice to whisper in a tone filled with wonder:

"You called me Hermione… You called me Hermione for the first time, Draco…"she observed, thrilling vibrations travelling up and down her body. Draco had said her name in a way no one ever had before. It was full of approval, affection, and, incredibly, something approaching reverence.

"And you've been calling me Draco for the first time too, sweet one…" he noted, a strange sad mist danced at the bottom of his lovely eyes.

"I guess it is time we go Her-" Draco started saying, but could not continue as Hermione quickly cut in.

"No! I-I mean…it's okay…we can stay some more," she suggested pleadingly.

"Now, that is very uncharacteristic of my responsible little kitten…" whispered Draco as he took out her wand and placed it between both of her trembling hands.

"You can jinx me if you want, Hermione," said Draco smiling before he continued. "No, you can kill me if you want; it would be a most beautiful way of dying," he stated playfully.

Hermione's finger reached across Draco's lips automatically.

"I would rather die first," she muttered, unable to comprehend from where such profound and fierce emotion came from; but, feeling her words with every inch of her soul.

"You are way too young to be talking about death, Hermione. You have a whole happy lifetime stretching in front of you; even if I would not be in it," Draco sighed.

"Ssshhh-" He stopped Hermione who was on the point of countering his statement. "This is probably the first and last time we'll ever be alone again. It is also the first and last time you've heard me say those words, my sweet one. I'm going to turn the timepiece now so that we can go back," Draco said as he started turning the clock.

"Wait, Draco! You haven't told me why you chose to come here, in this tower instead of back at the castle's doors, where you could have stopped me from slapping you and changed the whole outcome!" Hermione asked, very anxious to buy some more time with this strange, unusual, lovely and stunning Draco Malfoy.

"Buying time, Granger? It will not work with me. I can read you, baby," he whispered close to her lips, and kissed her at the same time they were transported back to where they had been originally standing; on the staircase leading to the Gryffindor common room.

Back to the real world.

Back to where Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were irreconcilable foes.

They stood facing each other in silence, both of their hearts thumping madly. Draco was the first to break the silence that had been thrumming with deep feelings.

"Hermione, if there was one last thing you could say to me, were we to talk for the last time, what would it be?"

Hermione tried to shake herself up from gazing at him with such wonderstruck awe.

"I…I think I'm falling for you too, Draco," she whispered back. She had told him that she thought she was falling for him, but it was not true. Even if she was so young, she knew what she felt for him could not be encompassed in the famous four letter word. She could not comprehend the deep-seated sadness and regret that had appeared in his fathomless, mesmerizing eyes.

"Do you know the Muggle song called 'Is this love?' sung by Whitesnake?" Draco asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Hermione blinked. "No...I don't know it... How come you listen to Muggle songs, Draco?" she asked, bemused.

"There are many things you don't know about me, Hermione," Draco said. Hermione just kept gazing at him, and unlike Draco, stayed oblivious to the approaching sounds of footsteps.

"Will you trust me if I ask you to do something?" asked Draco, a sense of urgency in his voice.

"Yes, yes I will!" Hermione replied without hesitating, her eyes shining with trust and…newfound love.

Draco lifted his hand to her forehead and gently made his way down to her chin as he said, "Close your eyes, my sweet one." As she smiled in anticipation and closed her eyes, Draco slowly walked away from her, his heart feeling like a cumbersome load inside his chest. As soon as he was far enough not to be noticed, he aimed his wand at her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione…" he said, pointing his wand at her and whispered, "Obliviate."

It was a memory charm that would make her forget their little escapade in the tower. It was a spell that would make her forget the Draco Malfoy she had come to appreciate; even if it was the tiniest little bit. It was a spell that doomed Draco to a lifetime of unhappiness. Even if he was still merely a teenager, he had grown up long ago, and the wrenching pain in his heart was telling him that forgetting Granger would be quite an ordeal.

"Our roads only crossed briefly and we must separate, Hermione. We both have different journeys and different destinations. I'm only sorry I permitted myself to selfishly indulge in this brief, beautiful encounter with you. It did not assuage anything. I'm just burning more fiercely than ever, and I'll probably end up in ashes… That is my concern, though. Good luck, my sweet one…"

Draco clasped his wand so tightly it was threatening to snap in two. He watched sadly as Hermione came back to herself. She looked about in a surprised manner and, slowly shaking her head, trudged back to the Gryffindor common room.

Where had Harry and Ron disappeared to, thought Hermione. She'll catch up with them later. Right now, she was feeling strange, and there was a heaviness in her heart that she could not quite place. It was as if she had left something crucial behind. Had she misplaced the Time-Turner, she thought wildly before being reassured as she felt it in her pocket, safe. Was it because she had just slapped Malfoy? No, it could not be; the arrogant prick deserved that! Besides, a nap would do her the greatest of good…

She would think later.

**End Notes:** _Look forward to have a peek into Draco's diary and his world whilst he had been studying at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the first few chapters...there might be many things you might not know about him; his feelings, his hobbies and basically, who is Draco Malfoy? Is he merely a cowardly bully or is he someone with deep feelings? Who is Lydian Hydras? What is it about a certain Lighthouse painting? Who might Sirin be?_


	2. Chapter 1: Draco Diary

**Chapter Notes: **_This first chapter, like the next four chapters that will follow, is focused on Draco. You'll see for yourself what kind of a person he is. You'll learn what goes on in his mind through a glimpse in his personal diary... Don't tell him you've had a look in there, though! I dare say he will not be very happy! Ssshhh...you are about to step into the inner world of Draco Malfoy, proceed with caution! _

_**Chapter 1:**__** Draco's Diary**_

_**A diary to write secrets in**_

_**A diary to open your soul to**_

_**A diary, a best friend**_

Draco lay spread on his stomach across his wide, dark wood, platform bed, fully relaxed after a shower. The walls of his room were made of bluish-dark, polished granite that perfectly complimented the decor. A large oak cupboard was seamlessly embedded inside one of the walls so that it did not clutter the already spacious room. Draco's school materials were neatly piled on a large crystal table, where the surface glowed from the light of an antique, six-branched candelabra. The candelabra's branches were in the form of snakes that slowly moved about and switched places on the stem. From their open mouths, dark blue flames hissed delicately.

The silver blond hair of the eleven-year old contrasted perfectly with his velvet-black pajamas, which were embroidered at the back with the dark green and gold colours of the family crest. The latter depicted two serpents entwined around a powerful looking, fire spitting dragon with, oddly, some kind of dagger piercing the dragon's heart. There was something in the depiction of the dragon's eyes that always spoke to Draco. However, when he had asked his father about the impressive looking dragon from the family's coat of arms, his father had only answered that they had had the family crest for as long as he could remember, and that it was not uncommon for pure-blood wizarding families to have dragons or snakes representing their clans! Lucius and his forefathers had been so used to the family crest devolved from one generation of Malfoy to the other, that they had never asked themselves any questions about the drawing!

It had not missed Draco's keen eyes, though, and the young boy did not find the information given by his father to be very satisfactory. He had wanted to know why such an extraordinary looking dragon had a dagger at its heart, but, above all, why should such a creature have the saddest looking eyes he had ever seen. It was as if the dragon was dying from a pain that was not physical. Draco knew that it was not the dagger that was hurting the majestic creature. The little boy, therefore, waited patiently till he was eight years old; the required age to gain access to the grand _Emerill Archeus Wizarding Library_ in London.

The library was known as the biggest in Europe, and it was a repository for all kinds of arcane, magical knowledge from centuries and millenniums ago. It was there that he had learned about the dragon.

It was called Lydian Hydras; the alter ego of the wizard Lydian Hydras, and said to be the most powerful creature of the ancient wizarding world. Lydian Hydras had been the only wizard ever who could, as an Animagus, morph into a dragon.

One day, while Lydian was passing through the French countryside, he came across a wizard wedding. The friendly wizards, awed by who he was, graciously invited him to the ceremony. Lydian immediately fell for the beautiful bride. He killed the whole wedding party and abducted the witch. At first, the witch, stunned and frightened, kept rejecting him. Even if he was not one with a gentle soul, Lydian kept her by his side without touching her. He often surprised the witch crying quietly in a corner, and because of her, he started developing a conscience, coming to bitterly regret the massacre he had done.

The ancient book Draco had been reading went on to tell that Lydian, however, never showed his emotions; he never showed to the witch that he was changing, that he felt remorse, and that the guilt was eating away at him with every breath he took. He had, often times, come close to freeing her from him, but never mustered the courage to let go of her.

It is recounted that one night the witch came to his side, telling him that she accepted him. Lydian, overjoyed, made her his that night, and in the morning when he woke up, instead of seeing love in the eyes of the woman he had abducted and whose family he had murdered, he saw that she held a dagger in her hands. He did nothing to dodge the weapon that pierced his heart. She hated him so much, she did not bother killing him with her wand. She had wanted to see his blood. She had wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt her by killing her family. The witch ran away, but as Lydian lay there dying, he gradually changed into his animal shape, a dragon.

A dragon so huge, immense and wonderful, and whose cries of agony were said to reverberate across the whole of the world, causing huge ripples in lakes and seas. As it died, its impressive jaws opened and the gargantuan fire that spilled from its soul were said to have reached the skies, and drowned the Earth in a crimson glow for weeks afterwards. It is said that Lydian, powerful as he was, could have gotten up and rescued himself. Yet, he chose to die, for it was not the dagger in his heart that was hurting; it was the hatred he had glimpsed in the eyes of the one he had fallen madly in love with.

The poor witch who had run away hardly knew she was already carrying the child of the man she detested with all her might. The beautiful pregnant witch was looked upon with dread by the rest of the wizarding community; not because she had killed Lydian, but because Lydian had chosen her in the first place. Lydian had been a wizard who had been feared by everyone, and the fact that he had chosen that witch as consort suggested that she, too, was somehow bad; 'Mal'…as they said in French. Every exploit the witch ever accomplished was viewed as tainted, and she acquired the surname 'Malfoy'.

Draco's beautiful eagle owl uttered a deep, high pitched hoot as it swept into the room, back from its nightly prowl. She was called Sirin, and had been handpicked by Draco when he was merely five years old. Ever since Draco had owned the bird, she had never been in a cage. Draco detested cages and held them in high contempt. He believed cages were not the place for large, regal creatures such as owls.

Sirin landed on the bed next to him, and lightly pecked him at the neck as Draco patted the bird's head. It was long ago that Draco had discovered Sirin to be deaf, but he had never revealed that to anybody else. His parents would never have accepted to keep a bird that was, for them, debilitated and, therefore, no fit pet for Draco. But Sirin had never had any difficulty due to its deafness; indeed, her deafness had accentuated her others senses. She and Draco seemed to be able to communicate with mere eye language.

It was nearing midnight, and a roaring fire cackled in the fireplace. The glass panes separating his room and private balcony were opened wide, and the wind caused the candles lit in the magnificent crystal chandelier on the ceiling to flicker genially. A candle sconce, featuring an antique mirror set in a silver-leafed metal frame, adorned another one of the stone walls. Neither the candles nor the hearth fire would be extinguished, even if, at times, the gush of wind that swept into the room was particularly strong; they had been enchanted. The musky scents of roses, moonflower vines, lilacs, and Clematis terniflora that grew down in the garden, floated inside his room.

Other than the mischievous wind, Malfoy Manor was so deathly quiet. Draco was used to such still silence, being the sole child in the family. When he had been younger, he had often secretly wished for a playmate, but that wish had faded away as he grew up. His silver-grey eyes, that oftentimes appeared to turn silver-blue, was currently focused on a night black diary as he scribbled down on the pitch black pages with a long feathered, black swan quill. The quill's ink, which was that of the changing colours of fire, seeped into the thick page, and the eleven-year-old's beautiful handwriting glowed back, reflecting in his shrewd eyes.

_Two days remaining before my first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Bought myself a new diary today at "Magical Papyrus" in Diagon Alley! Quite an impressive shop that one! Rows upon rows of diaries of all shapes and sizes, seemingly, reaching sky high! And all of them with a story to tell it seemed! There were diaries which only silly girls would be buying. Saw a little red- haired one looking wistfully at a diary which was in the shape of a disturbingly flesh-like heart, with crimson pages in between the skin-like cover; "Make me yours and you'll give me life, Keep me close and I'll share your plight", were the words that were engraved on the cover. At the next moment, it changed to "Touch me and make my heart start beating, Adopt me and I'll treasure your every secret meeting"._

_Talk about corny!_

_One particularly stupid diary, in the form of a crocodile, even bit my finger! Smacked its head and it started crying crocodile tears, drenching the lime coloured pages that fast turned a murky jade! Pitiful! I hate tears; they never move me! As father says, crying is for the weak and pathetic Muggles. Pure-blood wizards should never fall that low. I would rather die than be seen crying!_

_Anyway, the only drawback about magical diaries is that once words have been written, they cannot be erased! The makers of the diary believed that the first words written on paper always showed best what you really felt! True or not, I cannot say!_

_The last diary I had is, at this moment, cackling in the flames of the fireplace! I've never been one to reread what I've written before. Only pitiable souls can waste time over what is in the past and feel nostalgic. Besides, that eight-year-old diary's lion cover was turning senile and chewing on the pages! Nostalgia…I wonder how that feels! I've never felt it before! What a futile emotion! Heard two drunkards in the streets reminiscing about their good ole times fighting 'You Know Who'…that must be nostalgia! Now that they are not part of the Resistance anymore, their existence has no more meaning. Ha, the wretched good- for-nothings! Nobody ever pays attention to those countless unnamed who have played their own part in the downfall of the Dark Lord. It is their fault, of course, they chose the wrong side! Had they chosen 'You Know Who', they'd have been famous, too. Notorious, feared, and probably locked in Azkaban, but famous! _

_Had to give the slip to Mother and Father for a few minutes in order to get this new diary! They would not have seen my writing a diary with an approving eye! Not the sort of base and useless exercise a pure-blood Malfoy should be wasting his time on, Father would probably say! Imagine the shame if it is ever found and read! A Malfoy with a diary! So very unlikely. I would only be writing at the end of the school year. The diary stays at home, well hidden. _

_Safer this way._

_Little do my parents know I have been keeping a personal journal for as long as I know! In fact, they don't even know that my first diary was given to me by the poor bugger Dobby, the house-elf, when I turned three! Sometimes I feel sorry for the constant taunts that piteous elf has to endure, but well, Father says their places are at our feet! 'Useless vermin,' he calls Dobby! I think it serves their kind right…that elf has not an ounce of courage in him! If someone treated me as abjectly as that, I would have rebelled and given them a good piece of my mind, and not to mention, a taste of my fists; even though I dislike physical blows! No, physical blows hardly hurt, but words do! …Whilst physical blows do wound, they heal quickly with the help of magical potions, but words, words slash at the heart and forever mark one's memory._

_Silly Dobby, why does he put up with all of that bad treatment, even from me? Is it because he knows no better? Anyway, unless he decides to stand up for his own sake, nobody is going to save him. In this world, gone are those who are going to fight your battles. Humans are selfish. They only fight their own private battles; deluding themselves into thinking that they are doing something for the better good! I know better than to mingle with the likes of those self-deluded ones!_

_On the subject of words hurting, well maybe the Cruciatus Curse can hurt even more than words! It did seem painful the way Father described it a few days ago! Of course, he's never been subject to it, but whilst he had been one of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, he had had to put a few people under the curse. I wonder if they teach how to perform the Cruciatus Curse at Hogwarts! It would be fun trying it on those blood traitors I guess! Don't think that old Dumbledore will allow any of that, though! He is turning into a senile old frog, Father says. Like my old diary, Dumbledore probably needs to be replaced…a thing of the past he is…!_

_I do hope Hogwarts would provide some nice distraction to kill time; preferably, some contemptible wizards who go around sporting inferiority complexes, who have never learnt to stand up for themselves, and unconsciously, revel in the feeling of being made victims. It would be fun to antagonize them and see them running with their tails between their shaky legs! Yes, that would be fun! They would later probably credit me with having helped them forge stronger personalities instead of being sissies, ha!_

_Both Mother and Father have warned me against associating with Muggle-borns! I dare say I don't want to write down the word they use when they describe wizards that are issued from marriages between two Muggles. I am not allowed to use swear words at home; they are not befitting for pure-bloods who are refined and good-mannered, Father says. However, that word used to qualify Muggle-borns does sound like a swear word to me! Anyway, it is not like I need a warning to know that I am not to befriend those types of lesser wizards!_

_On another subject, I would, evidently, be in Slytherin! Can't imagine being anywhere else! All the Malfoys have been in Slytherin except Great Uncle Habeas Orpheus Malfoy, who did not even go to wizarding school! It is not allowed to talk about him at home, and he has died long ago when he had been only thirty-three. Slytherin sounds much cooler than the rest! Most of the great wizards have been in Slytherin! And besides, _

"_Lime green, lime green and tangerine  
>The sickly sweet colors of the snakes I'm seeing<br>Lime green and tangerine  
>The sickly sweet colors of the devil in my dreams…"<em>

_Slytherin's dominant colour is, of course, green! Just like in that famous Muggle song, green…the colour of the Devil, penetrating intellect and cunning the other houses do not have! Oh, Gryffindor's bravery and courage blah-blah are highly overrated and overblown! What is the use of being courageous but stupid? You are more likely to lose your life sooner if that is the case!_

_Anyway, concerning Muggles, if there is anything ever good that came out of that normally contemptible lot, it is some of their music! That group called 'The Smiths' is really good, and does seem wiser than the rest of the usually dimwitted Muggles! Cool songs, even better than the 'Weird Sisters'! Nevertheless, you'll never catch me saying anything praiseworthy of Muggles if it were not for this diary! Father, and even Mother who dotes on me, would probably box my ears if they knew what I listen to! Not that I'll ever tell anyone._

_Never._

_I, Draco Malfoy, am a true pure-blood and I'll never be a blood traitor._

_Ha, also, I'm looking forward to being selected for Slytherin's Quidditch team this year! I've heard that first years are not normally allowed on the team, but I believe I'm good enough to become one of the youngest Quidditch players in ages! I have been flying on the broom for as long as I can remember! There is no reason I would not be qualified to play for Slytherin! Father would be proud of me!_

_On another noteworthy subject, rumour has it that Harry Potter will be coming to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year! I wonder what he is like! It might be fun to have him as friend I suppose… He must be revelling in all that fame! The Boy Who Lived; though, I reckon, "The Boy loved by All" or "The Boy fawned over by All" could be particularly fitting as well! If he knows what's good for him, he'll accept the hand of friendship I'll extend to him! No one ever refused friendship with a Malfoy before; our family is rather influential, I dare say! He would not dare refuse such a beneficial prospect! _

_That's it; I'm off to bed. Until next year, Diary, Adieu & Goodbye!_

**A Year Later**

Draco trudged back into his room after having been greeted by a feast which was comprised of: chicken parmigiana, rice pilaf, roasted potatoes, cheesecake, treacle tart, pumpkin juice, chocolate fudge cake, as well as jello! He had hardly enjoyed it as much as he would have wanted to, though, for his father kept getting back at him for not having shone better at school or winning the Slytherin House Cup.

It was only two hours ago since Hogwarts Express left the students who attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at Platform nine and three-quarters. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were glad their only son was back home, even though they were never effusive over emotions! A brief hug from his mother and a pat on the shoulder from his father was the only greeting he received or needed, for that matter. Crabbe and Goyle had gleefully rushed back to their own parents, who'd brought their favourite sweets and cakes from 'Sunset Sweets and Pastries', the shop which was Crabbe's and Goyle's number one haunt in Diagon Alley!

As Draco turned the crystal knob of the beautiful, opaque glass door opening on his bedroom, he immediately noticed that his school materials had already been carried up to his room, and had been neatly arranged on the crystal table that was in the middle of his room, directly underneath the impressive chandelier. Draco walked to the sliding glass panes separating his luxurious room and balcony, and opened them wide, loving the instant rush of wind that caressed his sandy blond hair. He stepped outside, barefoot on the marble balcony, and closed his eyes, relishing the moment. He let the pressure his father had the knack of putting on him uncoil from his body, and inhaled a lungful of fresh air, sighing with contentment.

It was Dobby's work, Draco thought. Dobby had not only baked the whole of the feast Draco had just had a taste of, but he had also brought up all of his school stuffs. Queer house-elves! So self-effacing with that inherently grovelling nature! He had chided Dobby downstairs over the treacle tart which, incidentally, was completely fine; just to see whether the elf had at least changed whilst he had been away! Instead, Dobby had started hitting his head on the floor, at Draco's feet, whilst offering apologies profusely!

Now that he was home, Draco resolved that he will make life hell for Dobby, and by doing so, he'll make the elf stronger, as well as making it easier for Dobby to feel more and more alienated and despised. He'll push Dobby to his limit so that the pathetic little bugger finally came to his senses and rebelled! Once and for all, he'll make the elf feel that even he deserved better treatment! He'll make Dobby feel resentful and tired of such a miserable way of living. Wherever the elf decided to go afterwards will not matter, for he will undoubtedly be happier away from the hell he lived, on a daily basis, at Malfoy Manor.

Dobby is a very clever elf, and Draco cannot gift him clothes even if he would have wanted to free him himself, because the elf was also a sentimental fool! Indeed, presenting clothes to a house-elf is a way of freeing the elf from enslavement. Dobby would not have accepted the cloth, for he would have valued the action behind the gifting of a cloth as worth another lifetime of insults and bad treatment. No, this was not what Draco wanted. Draco wanted Dobby to leave without feeling any kind of misplaced guilt, and he knew that if Dobby was made to feel sufficiently upset, the elf would be able to come up with a way of leaving this life of misery behind. And once Dobby is gone, for Draco is sure that the elf will manage to go away by some way or another, Draco will miss him!

Yes, Draco Malfoy will miss a house-elf.

He harboured faint memories of Dobby secretly stealing to his room and narrating adventure stories to him when he was only a small child. Draco also remembered clandestinely seeking out Dobby to play hide and seek. He pitied Dobby, and now that he was home, Draco resolved that he will have to be cruel in order to be kind to the house-elf. It was now or never. Draco would hate himself some more after that, but there was nothing new there. He always seemed to hate himself a little more with every year that passed…

It seemed as if it was time to get back to writing in his diary again!

He walked away from the balcony and retrieved his diary from behind the beautifully stirring painting that hung on one of the stone walls of his bedroom. It was a painting he had made himself two years ago, inspired by a trip to the sea coast. Painting was something that he missed greatly, and nobody knew that he could paint, not even Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy! He had told them that he had bought the painting, instead.

The painting showed moving waves that were constantly lashing out at a lonely lighthouse. The lighthouse was perched on a high, black rock outcrop in the middle of the sea, and its light slowly revolved round and round infinitely, never tired, never complaining; devoting its existence to helping ships pass the dangerously rocky straits safely, with an almost melancholic resignation to its fate.

Oftentimes, the rain would start falling inside of the picture, and it was only on rare days that the sun's rays would come out. It was on those rare sunny days that, if one peered hard enough, one could see a lone being with silver-blond hair sitting perched high up on the railing of the lighthouse, with a tiny black violin in his hands. The blond-haired figure would seem to any onlooker as being slightly suicidal, as the waves that lashed out seemed almost always angry.

Draco preferred the full moon nights depicted in the painting; when the moon rays illuminated the sea and made a pathway that seemed to lead directly to his room. On those nights, even the waves seemed to calm down with the soothing kiss of the moon, and at intervals a haunting tune could be heard floating from the painting to Draco's room.

A painting drawn by a wizard almost always tended to vary and change according to the moods of the painter, even if they were miles apart. When Draco felt very angry, either the waves would smash the glass panes of the lighthouse, causing the blond figure to drop the violin and open his hands to welcome the waves; or, a ship that happened to be passing by would smash on the rocks, in spite of the light from the lighthouse. It was something that Draco hated. True, he had painted it such, but he never liked seeing ships wrecked and its innocent passengers killed. He thus learned to be cool headed in most situations.

Playing the violin was another one of his hidden talents. His parents had first noticed his aptitude for making music when he was still a four-year-old child. However, the small, black, wooden violin that Dobby had given to him had been made subject of collective laughter and taunts at his birthday party. Draco, eager to please his parents, had smashed the violin, to the approval of Lucius Malfoy, and purposely ignored the tears that had welled up in Dobby's eyes. Even though Draco had been so young, those tears were forever engraved in his memory. Those were tears of hurt; hurt _he_ had caused to someone. That was one of the reasons why he hated tears so much, and despised those who showed their weaknesses by crying.

Draco never played music in front of his parents. He did so only when he went on trips on his own, buying a new violin each time and abandoning the latter when he was due to return home. Unfortunately, such trips were few, because Narcissa Malfoy could be very protective when she wanted to!

Draco got hold of his diary and his black swan quill before throwing himself on his bed, and opened his journal on a bare page.

_My first year spent at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry & some other thoughts:_

_Diary, I'm back after a year. Feels good to be back in this room! It has been a peculiar year, and things have not gone exactly the way I thought it would have before I went to Hogwarts! _

_Disappointing, truly._

_Potter is now my enemy and so are all of his friends. He dared refuse my friendship that scarhead! The loss is all his actually, but, at first, it did irritate me! Never has someone refused to be friends with a Malfoy! Seeing how much of a duncehead Potter is, and his mingling with flea-ridden Weasley and that Muggle-born Granger, now I would not accept him as a friend even if he wriggled down in front of me!_

_Go to hell, Potty & Co. _

_Muggle-born Granger is something of a jumped up know-it-all! It is as if her seats are living porcupines in class, with her restlessly jumping up and down whenever she knows an answer! And, annoyingly, that is almost always! Glad that Professor Snape is the only one who ignores her raised hands, ha! _

_Also, I have not even made it into the Slytherin Quidditch team whilst Potty has become a Seeker! He is quite the Hero for Gryffindor back at Hogwarts. He and his foolish friends have even flaunted their supposed bravery by rescuing Philosopher Stone from the grips of Quirrell, and Dumbledore awarded them points that helped them win the House Cup! Talk about excessive and unfair!_

_Father is not very happy about the way my first year at Hogwarts has gone by. He does want me to show that I'm a pure-blooded Malfoy and rise up above everyone else at that school! I guess it is useless to explain to him that most of those students are too low to even bother about rising over them! Anyway, something tells me this is not the first time that Potter and Company will be meddling into affairs that do not concern them, and afterwards be hailed and congratulated for having broken school rules and saving the world of evil!_

_Pathetic bunch. Damn._

_Do I smell envy here, Draco Malfoy? Rich, arrogant and oh-so-perceptive Draco? No, of course not, there is no reason for me to be envious of that stinky lot. No reason for me to be envious of the blatant and cosy friendship they share. Friends become weaknesses, and caring makes you vulnerable. I would not become a vulnerable person. No reason for me to be envious of Potter being so famous and appreciated by all! They truly are the touchy-feely bunch. _

_I see Granger jumping around Potty's and Weasel's neck at every opportunity she gets! How can Potter or Weasley tolerate a Muggle-born coming that close to them? Shame they are wizards! Should have been born Muggles! And that disgusting Granger, ughh… Does she have no sense of self preservation? She does not really need an excuse to get close to them, it seems._

_Insufferable Granger. _

_Overheard flea-ridden Weasel making fun of her having no friends once, and Granger ran away in tears! She should have learnt not to get close to Potty and Weasel again, but she did show that she had dirty blood running in her veins by running back to them at the next chance she got! It is quite a paradox that she is so brilliant in her studies, but still acts like a silly fool around those two! Clearly, it is the effect of being a Muggle-born!_

_As for my supposed friends, Crabbe and Goyle, they are more like brainless cronies interested in nothing else but food! They never disagree with anything I say, they laugh at my every joke, and have no opinion of their own. Still, hanging out with them prevents me from having to loiter around alone like a lost soul!_

_Damn Hogwarts! _

_Don't feel like it's a place that will really recognize true talent or ingenuity, and permit others who are not from Gryffindor to really shine! My first year has not been a great one. Not a great one indeed. Hopefully the next year will be better! Going to work harder and try to get into the Slytherin Quidditch team. Maybe then it would be less boring!_

_It is a pity there are no painting or music lessons at Hogwarts! On second thought, it is better that there are none of those classes. Nobody in Slytherin would believe me, Draco Malfoy, to excel in activities like those. No, Draco Malfoy is famed for being an arrogant boy who boasts around a lot and behaves like a cowardly bully! That is the image you have to keep, Draco; for your own sake, you can't show people your vulnerable side since music and painting tends to bring out things you don't like to show! _

_Indeed, that is why I've stayed away from the brush, palette, and violin a whole, long year! I'm missing those, though. Guess I'll soon have to make an excuse about going on an outing with Crabbe and Goyle, and afterwards find myself a lovely violin, plenty of sheets, and colour to make up for a whole year sabbatical from my favourite activities! I happen to know an abandoned, crumbling dwelling in Cornwall that is right next to some plunging cliffs. Nobody ever goes there, and that would be the ideal place to spend some of my holidays! _

_Ah, I do remember one particular breathtaking sunset at St. Michael's Mount. It has been captured in one of my paintings, and is now in my secret locker behind the Lighthouse Painting. I remember the exquisite sun, a perfect, round fire ball slowly sinking at the horizon, not even hurting the eyes. And at the same level, the castle on St. Michael's Mount lay drenched in the pale mauve, pink, soft red and blue of the dazzling palette in the sky. The sea reflected the delicate pastel mixture of light mauve and soft cherry. _

_Such awe-inspiring beauty! Simple, true and enviable._

_I think my parents would have found it suspicious if I let most of my drawings hang about my room. They do not regard painting highly; believing them to be an activity better relegated to bohemians, gypsies, or other wandering fools, and Muggle-borns with no aim in life. Great Uncle Habeas Malfoy had been disowned from the family for having made painting his life's ambition, and for associating with Muggle painters; even though the latter had been very famous in the Muggle world._

_His name has been wiped out from the family tree, and most people do not even know about him! He had left the Malfoy ancestral home when he had been merely fifteen -years-old so as to live free with his passions. Great Uncle Habeas was known to have said that wizarding schools tampered with the minds of the young students, seeking to stultify their free spirits and imagination. He hated school, and refused to attend one till the very end._

_Habeas Malfoy died young, and his sudden death, to this day, is still very much shrouded in mystery. Rumours about some kind of cursed violin being the cause of his death circulated for some time, though! Great Uncle Habeas was not the only one in the family with 'un-Malfoy-ish' genes! Indeed, Great-Great-Grandfather Eldonius Abraxus Malfoy was said to have never gotten over the fact that his first wife deserted him. He had previously been somewhat of a womaniser who loved living the good life. However, all that changed when he met his first wife. He loved her very much, but for some reason, she left him._

_He then married another beautiful witch, my Great-Great-Grandmother. He never loved her as much as he loved his first wife, and he spent all of his days lost in drinks. He died young, too, at the age of thirty-five._

_I think if we retraced the family tree to the very start, there might be many such accounts. It seems to me that the Malfoys of generations-past have not always been that uptight and sophisticated. Many of them have proven to be individuals with fiery natures who felt things at a level many did not feel._

_Anyway, back to the subject of my parents hating paintings. One of the reasons they give is that Muggle paintings, of course, do not move, are lifeless, and a plain waste of time to look at. Nevertheless, other than music, some Muggle paintings are truly good even if they do not move! The mixture of colours and emotion some Muggles manage to put in those paintings make the latter tell stories of their own…_

_Patently, motion is not all. If you stand long enough in front of an excellent Muggle painting like I've so often surreptitiously done, it is not difficult to hear the painting speak to you or reach to you._

_Wow…writing, I see, really helps in exorcising one's demons! I do seem rather hungry to write some stuffs that have been on my mind, on paper. If it depended on my parents, they'll surely point out my demons as being my fascination with painting and playing the violin._

_I'm glad they do not a thing about those. I'm glad nobody knows in reality, not even my supposed 'friends'. _

_Sometimes, like now, I pity Muggles! How can they live without magic? Are they happy living as they do? I guess I'm not really qualified about asking whether they are happy or not! Indeed, what is happiness? Yes, Draco, this is a question you should be asking yourself! What is happiness? When have I been happy? I think I can count those moments on my fingers. The first time I remember feeling something strangely warm inside of me was when Dobby had given me that small violin. Does that count as happiness? It cannot, I guess…because it was so damnably short! I don't want happiness if it is always that short. I prefer always having that cold feeling inside my chest, as it pains to feel yourself all warmed up inside, and the next instant to have that feeling snatched away from you; to feel as if your insides have been scratched by particularly sharp nails._

_I still remember the excited and wonder-filled eyes of the Muggle-borns when they first entered Hogwarts. Even though they were nervous, they did seem thrilled and happy to be there. Granger's eyes were literally popping out of her head from so much awestruck staring, and even so, she could not help pointing out things she had read from the school textbooks. Pity them Muggle-borns who have not experienced magic until they are eleven and admitted into a wizarding school!_

_The level of magic they taught us at school this year was piteously ordinary and uncomplicated! They do not really allow you to experience all kinds of magic, and become great wizards in that school with all those stupid restrictions!_

_On the other hand, it was the first time I was away from home, away from being doted upon by Mother, and that was probably the only plus point of staying at Hogwarts! Not that I don't relish being back. It is just that I have wanted to know how it would feel not to be at the centre of a family or not being inside a cocoon. And now I know how it feels. If I thought it was somewhat lonely as I grew up, this year at Hogwarts has strangely drained me. I cannot help noticing things that disturb me._

_Friendships and laughter blooming everywhere… _

_I've sometimes caught myself wondering how it would have been if I had been in sorted in Gryffindor, instead. Would I have had friends who would have appreciated me for who I am?_

_Uhhggg…Gosh, no way, get a hold on yourself, Draco! Self pity does not suit a Malfoy! You are way better off in Slytherin if you do not want yourself to transform into the pathetic scum such as Potty and Weasel. Indeed, it is great fun taunting Weasley with being beggar poor! Ha… Watching his face turn scarlet and his ears tomato red are always worth the effort of wasting time speaking to him! As for Potty, he does not react as recklessly as Weasel, but it is worth seeing him discomfited when I taunt him about having no proper family and having to live with those Muggle relatives of his! I can understand why he reacts less hotheadedly._

_Indeed, having a family does not always mean warmth, even though the members of that family love each other. Hold on there… What is happening to you, Draco? What is this thing about warmth, love and being understanding? Since when have you become so nauseatingly cheesy? Obviously, Hogwarts is going to make you crazy! Hopefully you won't end up at St. Mungo's soon, because you are clearly not thinking straight! _

_Damn. Damn. Damn._

_You've got to be yourself, Draco. You've got to be your conceited, holier-than-thou self, and look down upon those blood traitors and Muggle-borns! This is how your father expects you to be! This is the way you have been raised, and this is who you are! _

_A pure-blood. _

_And for Merlin's sake, stop humming, "Never had no one ever" to yourself! _

_Inexcusable._

_Close this diary and go to bed. Have you not noticed that when you are writing, you always tend to jot down things you won't even admit to yourself? Quite dangerous, but also very revealing! You really do not dare know what is in the dark depth of this head of yours now, do you?_

_Ha, I guess not! Besides, with a little bit of luck, I will be in Cornwall on my own soon, but first, I have to take care of Dobby. I have to leave no stone unturned in order to make that elf leave and seek a much better life elsewhere._

_So, diary, this is farewell. Until another, hopefully more fun-filled, year at Hogwarts, Adieu & Goodbye! _

**Another year passed for Draco at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Draco Malfoy came back to Malfoy Manor after his second year at Hogwarts. His parents were currently away visiting some relatives back in Scotland and Draco refused to go. He preferred to have some time on his own. In fact, he was used to having so much time on his own that he was quite reluctant to change that state of affairs. He now sat on a sofa downstairs in the main hall, watching the rain coat the glass panes looking out on the garden. He wore black jeans and a pale blue shirt, with the top two buttons open at the neck to reveal a G-Clef pendant that he almost never took off. The lovely flower garden was gently draped in mists; mists that reflected in Draco's striking silver-grey eyes with the cobalt hues. For the first time, he had brought his diary out of his room.

And Malfoy Manor was as lonely as ever, with Dobby gone too.

Dobby, the now free elf.

He had finally succeeded in making Dobby realize that even house-elves deserved happiness - even if the meaning of that word remained somewhat elusive to Draco. Draco had been so relentlessly nasty and cruel to Dobby when he had been on vacation after his first year. Dobby had finally broken free. The house-elf probably hated him as well. And yet another being added to the ever growing list of those who hated him, thought Draco.

Hatred from others was his due, it seemed. Not that it bothered him. He could never care less about what others thought of him.

Draco opened his diary and started writing.

_Another year has passed, and I'm back at home. Another peculiar year, and again, it has not gone as I would have wanted it too! Still, I guess that is what makes life interesting. Indeed, it is the unexpected that makes life interesting, but it seems as if it is making me more and more miserable. I cannot pinpoint why, and I cannot even show it. _

_No, Draco Malfoy cannot dare show any kind of weakness._

_I have made it into Slytherin's Quidditch team, and Father, who was still on Hogwarts' Board of Governors at the start of the year, insisted on gifting the new Nimbus 2001 to all of the team, even though such a gesture would naturally pass as if he was trying to buy me a place on the team; as Granger so quickly pointed out. I dare think I made it on the team due to my skills, but I cannot even be sure now. I had tried to stop Father from doing such a thing, but he refused point blank. He probably had no trust in my skills. Still, why did Granger have to meddle in matters which were of no concern to her? Whether I taunt Potty or Weasel is no business of hers!_

_She interfered. I fought back. _

_Called her "Mudblood" to her face, and Weasel was so enraged, he shouted a hex from his damaged wand which backfired on him. I even dropped on the grass laughing. It was very comical to some extent, but some of my laughter was forced nevertheless. Patting the grass in uncontrollable mirth was acting. I did not want to call Granger the vile word "Mudblood". It is such a relief she is Muggle-born, in fact! She did not even seem to understand what I had called her and, at first, only seemed confused by the belligerent tone I had adopted. And I've used the word so often this year that she now probably feels the awful connotation behind that word. Maybe it serves her right for still trailing with Potty and Weasel. Granger, if you know what is right for you, stay away from those two dumb heads! For some reason, I cannot help myself taunting Granger whenever she is with those two friends of hers!_

_Using the foul word "Mudblood" a lot is in-keeping with my image. Mudblood Granger, Granger Mudblood! Undoubtedly, that is only what can be expected from bad blood Draco, even if I had to stop myself from cringing when I first uttered it! Indeed, I remember Hagrid's words at the start of the year, back in the shop where that silly fool Gilderoy Lockhart was having his books signed! Father had had a tiff with Weasel's father, and Hagrid had intervened to pick Arthur Weasley up. Father was already out of the store and, as I followed him, I did happen to catch Hagrid's words:_

"_Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that — no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter — bad blood, that's what it is..."_

_I should not have overheard that sentence. It is as if it engraved in my mind. I know that Hagrid is not the only one who thinks so, but the others are too stupidly virtuous to voice out what they think. And Father's money benefits loads of them._

_Hagrid is right, evidently - none of the Malfoys are worth listening to! Our blood is black and has turned bad because father had once been a Death Eater. Prejudices die hard it seems, and it is not easy to trust! _

_Rotten. I'm rotten to the core. And if those people have any sense in them, they would listen to Hagrid's words!_

_Granger, if she is really that clever, she'll know what not to pay attention to. _

_Granger, with that bushy head of hair! She is not exactly gorgeous, but she can be cute when she wants to be. Gosh, Draco, what are you saying, for Merlin's sake?_

'_Granger' and 'cute' in the same sentence? _

_Are you certain you are feeling alright? No! No! She is not cute! I hate her when she acts so conspiratorially with Potty and Weasley. Nonetheless, there is some kind of warmth radiating from her and extending to all of her friends. I wonder how it would feel to be encompassed by that warmth…_

_And she looks at me with those big brown, disapproving eyes!_

_Granger. Mudblood Granger. What would you think now if you knew I was writing about you, and even wrote that you were cute! But you'll never know. I will never tell you. I will only taunt you, be cruel to you, and bring out the worst of hatred from you. This is what is expected of me!_

_The three of them have been heroes yet again! Weasel and Granger helped Potty in slaughtering the monster from the Chamber of Secrets. Such great, courageous heroes, applaud them, love them, and bestow even more glory upon them. Once more, I know that the exploits of those three are not going to end here! This time, however, even my father was implicated- only, he was the villain._

_He had planted Riddle's diary among the books of that Weasley girl, causing her to be possessed by whatever was in that diary! Father has been sacked from the Board of Governors! A real shame. It still fails me why he did so, and whenever I ask for explanations, he always evades my questions. Something is not quite right here. I need to know what!_

_It wasn't true, of course, when I confessed to Crabbe and Goyle that I wanted Granger killed by the Slytherin monster. However, I only realised that it wasn't what I wanted when I learned about her being attacked, for real. I'm supposed to be hating Muggle-borns! Why is it that it got me worried to hear that Granger had been Petrified? She is not even my friend, thankfully! I never showed that it got me the tiniest bit worried, though._

_I suppose that I just felt a bit guilty to have my words partly come true. Nobody knows that I waited in the Slytherin common room for everyone to go to bed, and then stole up to the hospital wing in the middle of the night to see her. She made a sorry figure with those listless, staring eyes, and that rigid pose. At that time, I was having strange ideas about trying to save her in some way. Then, I heard footsteps; it was probably that of Madame Pomfrey's, and I had to hurry back. In the end, the Slytherin monster was defeated, and Granger came back to her normal, annoying self!_

_I'm supposed to be a villainous character back at Hogwarts. I admit that if ever I happen to meet someone like myself, I would probably have jinxed the latter to the point of unconsciousness! I mustn't come across as someone very pleasant to most of the students! What do I care, though? Whether I am hated or not leaves me indifferent! It is certainly better to be despised than be fawned over by a bunch of brainless fools…_

_And that Dobby! Even if I'm glad that the wretched elf is now free, it was from Potter that he sought help from! Couldn't he have found someone else? At least Potter had some wits hidden in that scarred head and was able to trick my father into freeing Dobby! Father was quite enraged, but at least someone from Malfoy Manor will be experiencing happiness._

_Dobby, I wish you all the best in life. And for the first time in my life, I'm apologizing for the harsh way I've been treating you. But it was for your own good, little elf! You are free now! I despise myself a bit more, but everything was worth it. Maybe you would never know that I had the broken pieces of the small violin transfigured into the wooden G clef pendant I now wear. You will probably never know that I've always valued you; so much that I hated the way you were treated, and hated myself even more for not having engineered some way or another for freeing you even before all this time. _

_It does not matter. You are a free elf now, and you can tell everyone that you are free. If there is one good thing Harry Potter ever did in his life, it is helping to free Dobby. _

_And if there is one wrong I, Draco, have ever done in this world, it was causing Dobby so much hurt. _

_Goodbye, Dobby, little brother, little playmate. Thank you for the violin. I hope you never have to come back to Malfoy Manor again! This place has given you nothing but misery and pain…_

_So, Diary, this is farewell. Until another year, from Draco, it is Adieu & Goodbye._

…

**End Notes:** There you are! Read the next chapters if you want to know why Draco will not be using a Conjunctivitis Curse on you for having peeped into his diary...! I think I'm right in saying that it is a spell he does not favour that much! Why is that?


	3. Chapter 2: The Cliffs of Cornwall

**Chapter 2: **** A Visit to the Cliffs of Cornwall**

_**There are days where the sun shines bright**_

_**And everything feels right**_

_**Days, untouched by the shadow of sadness**_

_**And when one's worries are put to rest**_

_**They are the days that one never wants to end**_

_**But they are also like fine sand**_

_**They are the days with the shortest lives**_

_**Leaving melancholy in their emptied hives…**_

_**After Draco's 3**__**rd**__** Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**_

Draco sat on a rock outcrop at the very edge of a set of steep cliffs in Cornwall. This place was his favourite holiday haunt. Just about thirty metres behind him, on the rocks, was an old and crumbling mansion. Purple, pink, golden yellow, and red bougainvilleas had been allowed to run wild on the facades of the abandoned remains of what must have once been a beautiful house.

The mansion only had a small section of its roof still in place, whilst the whitewashed walls had become grayish green with time. In that sheltered part of the otherwise open air haunt, were the paintings, brushes and palettes that still dripped with colour. A yet unfinished painting could be seen hovering in the air alongside the brushes and palettes. The incomplete painting showed the magnificent eyes of a Hippogriff. Even if magic was not allowed to be done outside Hogwarts by underage wizards, enchanted supplies were something that anyone could possess.

Those supplies had been obtained from _Master Mariner Paints & Brush_, which was a store in Clifton Alley. Clifton Alley was a street that was entirely devoted to the world of drawings and paintings; something that suited Draco, since he could buy his equipments without being seen by his fellow Hogwarts friends. The latter usually confined their shopping to Diagon Alley.

As the splendid, azure waves crashed against the rocks, fine drops of sea spray fell onto Draco's face, and he sighed deeply before smiling, enjoying the fabulous day. Even if there was some pain in his heart, it seemed as if the sunshine filled morning, and the lovely, cloudless blue sky were conspiring to alleviate some of that bittersweet ache. For a second time that year, he wished for time to stop…

The cliffs ran for at least a good kilometer on either side of him - majestic and breathing with life - before finally giving way to beautiful, hidden sandy coves. Draco watched as a seagull strutted off from its nest in an outcrop and deploying its white wings, soared up in the sky before scooping down to the deep, blue sea, looking for fish.

Draco could not know it, but back at Malfoy Manor, the Lighthouse painting on his wall was showing dolphins and whales that were happily cruising in the sea and doing back flips. The little blond-haired figure with the wooden violin was looking about him avidly and soaking up the glorious sunshine. Three seagulls could be seen sitting on the lighthouse railing next to the boy in the picture, and they were seemingly having a merry conversation.

Sighing again, Draco opened his diary at a blank page and retrieved his long, black swan feathered quill from the first page of the diary. The quill was one that had been magicked to appear as an image on the first page, and once the wizard opened his diary, he could at a touch cause the picture of the quill to materialize in his hand.

"Hello, Diary! And yet another year! Missed me?" Draco asked the night black diary jokingly. The diary glowered like smouldering coals in answer to his query, and let a little pink heart bubble escape.

"Ha. You can't have, you are just a set of lifeless pages that have been enchanted!" Draco derided slightly, amused as the diary glowered ever more, turning blazing red before utterly stilling in his lap. A little puff of black smoke floated away from it in indignation.

"Offended, aren't you?" Draco laughed as he started writing.

_Diary, why does it feel as if time is flying away? This time, I managed to convince my parents to let me spend some of my holidays on my own. Father and Mother are making a trip to France this year. Father was of the idea that I am, indeed, old enough to spend some time on my own; even if Mother was not very happy about that. There was no need to pretend I was going off somewhere with Crabbe and Goyle, thankfully!_

_Ever since I've been back at home, the atmosphere in the house has been gloomier than usual; even somewhat cranky. There have been Death Eater-related whispers in the house, although I'm not included in the hushed talks between Mother and Father! I know, of course, that thirteen years ago, Father had been a Death Eater._

_How do I feel about that? Well, he was old enough to choose the side he wanted, and I think he made the right choice. It gives me chills to think of myself associating with the saintly Potters and the likes. Voldemort has been a great wizard in his time; better even than Gellert_ _Grindelwald. I remember Father talking about Dumbledore's famous wizard duel with the latter. If Dumbledore had been truly that great, he doesn't look so now. Looks like an old bag of bones who can hardly hold his wand, if you ask me. How is he going to fight if the Dark Lord comes back?_

_But there can be no chance of Voldemort returning, could there? Well, if he does return, Father would certainly go back to being a Death Eater. And then…if I had been in Voldemort's place, I wouldn't have liked the way Lucius Malfoy was so quick to come on the other side after the former's destruction years ago._

_Still, Voldemort could not have expected to have followers after he, himself, had proved how easily thwarted he could be! Ha, destroyed by kiddie Potter. That doesn't tell much about him. I, certainly, would not be the follower of a supposed great wizard who, laughingly, had been defeated by a mere child. Regardless of whatever I say in public, Voldemort should be quite shamefaced for having been so defeated! I do hope he does not come back. The supposed Dark Lord is fit for the closet of forgotten has-beens._

_Anyway, on another, more exciting subject, I'm so looking forward to the Quidditch World Cup that is going to take place in about three weeks. After that, just a few days would remain before another year at Hogwarts! It would be cool to play Seeker in the England team one day! It is not the same as playing against the pitiable houses of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw! Feel like it's a waste of time showing off my talent over there! I just let Potter think he is so very good. It is, indeed, quite fun to let them think they are above everyone else when I know I never play to my full potential! Why do so, when observing them provides the source for so much entertainment at their expense? I know that I come across as a high and mighty bastard at school, but I just feel that Hogwarts is not the place to showcase my talents!_

_At least I can afford to show off my boasting abilities, duh._

_And they are the better fools for not being able to enjoy it as much as I do!_

_Already three years have passed away since I first came to Hogwarts, and so much has happened. This year, the Azkaban escapee, Sirius Black, was on the scene. He is Potty's godfather, and he strangely disappeared and so did Buckbeak, the Hippogriff! Strangely, for the rest of Hogwarts that is, whilst I happen to know that Sirius disappeared on Buckbeak! _

_Buckbeak and Hagrid; the reason why Granger slapped me…I can almost feel a tingle across my face! She doesn't look it, but she is incredibly strong, that little wench._

_Buckbeak is an innocent, even if it was my overacting that triggered the whole death sentence saga on the creature. Provoking Buckbeak in front of the class, and Granger was just another thing to further the haughty image they already have of me._

_Admittedly, it was a nice distraction. It is not so bad to have people fuss over you!_

_Little did I know that Crabbe and Goyle would be only too happy to report to my father about the incident! Father did not waste time to act and call upon sanctions without even feeling the need to consult me. He was very surprised when I intervened on Buckbeak's behalf, explaining that it was I who caused the incident in the first place. Contempt was all I got! Pure-blood wizards of the Malfoy's ilk are not supposed to be going around sporting pity on worthless creatures. Could he be right, I wonder?_

_Man, supposedly, has dominion over all other non-human creatures. It will be lying if I said that I hold that view to be completely true. Man does not have dominion, but can only play the role of a privileged caretaker. Those who think otherwise can only have an inflated sense of their own importance! They just do not realise how tiny Planet Earth is! I think that to believe that man has a hold on anything whatsoever is to deceive oneself! _

_Father was the first to inform me that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures had decided to execute Buckbeak. I felt so bad, I cannot begin to describe it. There had to be a way to save the animal. We had the Care of Magical Creatures class and I saw Hagrid there. The big loaf was truly in a bad shape, sharing his sorrows with Granger and her worthless friends. I did stay with Crabbe and Goyle to listen to what Hagrid had to say, and the golden trio heard me calling Hagrid 'pathetic'. Well, if he was not being pathetic, was he being Hercules? How could he be so big and so easily accept such a fate for an animal he obviously loved! He should have had the courage to put on a fight._

_Tears never saved anyone._

_Granger wasn't very happy, though…and then…the slap…_

_And then, I was not very happy._

_She hardly knew that I was devising my own plan to help Buckbeak. Later on, I had gone to look where the execution, if given a go ahead - and knowing Father's influence - would have taken place. There had to be a way to smuggle the animal away; to save it; especially when it was I who had stupidly, and with a lack of foresight, caused the incident. I had known the Hippogriff would react badly to the taunt, and I expected the retaliation that came with it._

_In some crooked way, it was a way to entertain myself. I failed to foresee the dreadful consequences that had followed. And that silly Hippogriff! Couldn't it really, for once, have played at the game of dangerous beasts and escaped from humans' hold on it? I heard that sometimes executions were not able to go ahead because the creatures were just too dangerous to approach. That stupid Buckbeak was clearly way too soft!_

_I despise executions! Somebody tell me, when has death ever solved anything?_

_Wizards, too, are so asinine at times. They even have that purposeless Committee to decide on the fate of the animals! Damn them for always trying to find the easiest way out. There are only incompetent idiots running about in that good-for-nothing Ministry! The fact that father can sway the Committee so easily clearly attests to that. _

_Crabbe and Goyle did not understand why I wanted to go see Buckbeak, and they stayed some distance away as I approached the animal for fear they might be injured. No one was around. Hagrid could be heard crying inside of his hut. It is a paradox how big giants often have the softest of hearts and are the most vulnerable ones. Quite a sissy he is! Could he not come up with some idea with that big, useless head of his, instead of sitting around and crying? Really pathetic!_

_Buckbeak was tethered to some wooden stake outside Hagrid's cottage. Such a shame! I could not risk Hagrid coming out. He hates me and he has good reason to. I'm not particularly fond of him myself. He is also a great supporter of Potty, and he'll hate anyone who refuses to bow in front of pitiful scarhead!_

_As I approached the creature, Buckbeak looked at me with those wise eyes, recognizing the person who had insulted it. And I kept looking at it, trying to convey to it that I would find a way to extricate him, silently. It was a strange feeling that I got then. I felt as if this creature in front of me was not going to die anytime soon; even though a death sentence was impending on it._

_I could say that Buckbeak, somehow, knew that it was not destined to die by having its head cut off. Why, I wondered, had the Hippogriff conveyed that feeling to me? Indeed, hadn't I offended it and been responsible for the plight it found itself in? I have never had an animal other than my eagle owl, and even if Sirin and I can communicate wordlessly, I have never really given a serious thought to this. The reassurance that Buckbeak would not die floated into the air like a warm feather and touched my forehead. It quite stunned me at that moment. It made me feel so queer, and oddly something akin to relief flooded me. Still, I couldn't rely on that heartening feeling. I had to do something, but I couldn't quite figure out what. _

_And then the day of the execution came! I was prepared to do anything to save Buckbeak; ready to stop Macnair, the executioner, from delivering the fatal blow. I did not care whether that meant shrugging off the gutless and malicious Malfoy pretense! Hurrying to the grounds, I saw Granger, Potty and Weasel materialize out of nowhere. They were making their way back to the castle. My suspicion that they had an invisibility cloak was confirmed then. I had had my doubts with the mud throwing incident near the Shrieking Shack! Potty still has not paid for throwing mud at me. He will someday._

_Seeing them, I quickly skulked out of the way. I couldn't believe they would have let the execution go ahead, but I impatiently waited in the shadows for them to get away so that I could get to Hagrid's cottage. I was even more shocked when I saw Potty, who had just passed me a few moments ago, come out of the forbidden forest to detach Buckbeak._

_It was then that I figured how they did it! The Time-Turner, of course! The golden trio, once again, played the heroes as they saved both Buckbeak and, to my astonishment, they even helped Sirius Black escape. It was not difficult to figure out that Black must have been freed from guilt in their eyes! They are the righteous bunch; they would not have let a criminal escape._

_It was sheer relief seeing the Hippogriff fly to safety. I would have had to drop the typical Malfoy-ish antics and rush to the cottage to save Buckbeak if those three, addicted to play the heroes, hadn't given way to their addiction. It turned out that Buckbeak's feeling that it would not have died then was true. _

_Granger can do anything it seems! She shows no sign of wizening up, though; still hanging about with the two other twerps._

_Brought my lips to hers, this year, in the old, abandoned tower._

_Damn, that sounds like a line from a dramatic play! Cheesy, cheesy, Draco; not up to your usual standards! Nonetheless, I do have some talent for writing. Being the editor of some cool magazine does not seem such a bad choice after Hogwarts. Not just any magazine. I would like to have my own publication, and there would certainly be not an ounce of gossip about Potty head in it! However, I guess I can find a little place to inform the people about Weasley's sudden passing away, were that to happen. Not that anyone would be interested in that idiot's death! It would be for my own sheer pleasure!_

_Exceptionally, I suppose the magazine could feature Granger on a regular basis! She has the talents to accomplish many exploits in the future._

_At that time, in the tower, Granger was scared off her wits, but...as we talked, I think she warmed up to me. It is her silly, big heart that drags her in situations where she is constantly running the danger of breaking her neck! _

_But, I made her forget about me. It was the 'Obliviate' spell that did the trick. It is not a spell that can be easily broken. Its effect can only wear off when the situation that has been forgotten, somehow, reenacts itself in a similar manner in front of the person who has been put under the spell. It is only then that the latter will come out of it. And there is no way that I'm planning to accomplish such a feat again. _

_It is better this way, it is better we keep our distances. I am supposed to be the craven and hateful Malfoy; not a distasteful character in a love triangle. Indeed, it is clear Granger is warming up more and more towards that Weasley. I would not put up with Weasel as a rival. He cannot stand up to me, and if he is Granger's choice, she is quite welcome to him._

_It is needless to say that I do not deserve that girl._

_But I can't help my eyes that constantly turn in her direction, even though she hardly pays any attention to me; focused as she is on helping Potty and his Parasite. He is always hurting her, that leech._

_I wish I could tell her how I feel without needing to have recourse to a memory charm afterwards!_

_You can't complain, Draco. You are who you are. You can't run from yourself. You can't help yourself if you are not someone to have a confidant, even if you are quite pestered by the Slytherin girls to open up to them. Another crazy bunch those girls are. And Pansy! She is becoming more and more annoying every year! _

_No one matters, though, no one._

_Granger should not matter too. But for some reason, she does. Why should it have been her? Why should she have been a Muggle-born? Why the heck should she have been a Gryffindor? Why the heck should she have been friends with those two dimwits? If she had been in Slytherin, maybe it would have been both of us who would have come together and saved the Hippogriff… It would have been an explosive team! And, if I had that invisibility cloak, what wouldn't I have to done to her under it…_

_Just not meant to be, I guess._

_I wonder if she has ever been on a broom on a full moon night. She does not seem very fond of Quidditch, but she would have come to love flying on a broom, and fit the stereotypical image Muggles have of witches on brooms! She would have made a fine-looking witch on that broom, flying in the night sky, and she would not have been alone. I would have sat just behind her, guiding her. What wouldn't I give to lose myself in her hair…forever!_

_Forever is a long time, but, with her, maybe it would not be enough… I don't understand why I feel this way with her. I just know that where Granger is concerned, the feelings I have for her would not be assuaged anytime soon. I don't even know from where such a deep conviction stems from! It could be that I am another one with the "un-Malfoy-ish" genes, who knows? At any rate, the thoughts I'm having are quite typical of a hormone-crazed teenager! Anyway, I never said that my vocation was to become some kind of priest! I might consider it, though, were Granger to become a nun! _

_There you go again with those silly thoughts! It's a pity what are written in wizard diaries cannot be erased! The diaries have a permanent writing charm on them, and in order to destroy the writings, the diary would have to be thrown in fire._

_Damn you, Draco! Are you being disgustingly love sick? It is no use writing about this, you're only hurting yourself more… Had you not been a Malfoy, maybe…_

_No, Malfoys have standards! They don't go around pining for a stupid, blind girl! And a Muggle-born at that! You've got some serious rethinking to do, Draco. Don't lose yourself in the fatal illusions of that base feeling! You might truly end up like some tragic hero in a drama; rather, tragic villain would be more fitting._

_Yes, better to change the subject!_

_I saw a Small People couple some hours ago on a cliff ledge. They are truly tiny, and they sat in their fragrant garden of sea-pinks, sipping some potion in tiny cups. I could hear a most beautiful music, and smell some heady perfume wafting from their garden. Lucky them! Sitting with the person you love and holding her hands should have been the simplest of things… _

_Muggles cannot hear that enticing music or smell that perfume, but wizards can. Long ago, even Muggles could see them, but they were afraid if they let themselves be enthralled by this outlandish phenomenon, that it could have proven fatal to them._

_So, little by little, the Cornish populace lost the ability to spot the Small People. Muggles, nowadays, do not believe that those little folks exist. That is why they deserve contempt for being so blinded!_

_When you lose the ability to believe, you also lose the ability to see and experience…_

_There you are, I've loosened my heart unto you, Diary. I'll see you next year, if I survive._

_I don't know why, but I am not having a very good feeling about the coming year. But then, when have I ever looked forward to going to Hogwarts? I should have gone to Durmstrang Institute like Father wanted. There, they indeed teach the Dark Arts instead of mere defense. That subject does not deserve the pejorative connotation it has._

_As the name suggests, it is an art, and if used well, can make great wizards. The greatest wizards have been masters in the Dark Arts. It should have been simple logic that when you know how to cast a hex properly, you will also learn how to counter it better! Learning defense without having experienced the attack makes no sense whatsoever! _

_Anyway, I have a painting to finish ,and after that I'm jumping off the cliff for a long, refreshing swim!_

_It is Adieu & Goodbye from your Stupendous Master!_

…

**End Notes: **_Draco is growing up fast. Look forward to the next chapter if you want to know how he lived through his fourth and fifth year at Hogwarts...What will he be writing in his diary? Suffice to say that when there was the Goblet of Fire, the Goblet of Despair went unnoticed..._


	4. Chapter 3: The Cup of Despair I

**After a fourth year spent at Hogwarts**

_**The fine sands of Sleep stayed away**_

_**On this lonely night**_

_**Bustling thoughts were fruitlessly trying to find a quay**_

_**Far from Despair's plight**_

_**The latter was one of the roughest seas**_

_**Even the most courageous of men sailed away from**_

_**Indeed, sailing in it was not a breeze**_

_**As countless times before, it slashed Joy's bosom**_

Once more, Draco was drenched in the silence of Malfoy Manor. It was past midnight, and his parents had long since retired to bed. He sat sprawled on the middle steps of the large, antique wooden staircase with the beautiful cast iron baluster; his blond head touched the steps behind him. Just in front of him, on the landing, was a stained glass window depicting the impressive dragon, Lydian Hydras, in his dying glory; the same dragon that was on the family crest.

Draco's silver-grey eyes with the eerie splashes of deep blue were focused on the candle-lit, crystal chandelier decorating the ceiling of the landing. Another flight of the spiral stairs led down to the spacious living room. His parents' room was on the ground floor, whilst he had the first floor entirely for himself. The Malfoys had always been rich.

Draco found sleep elusive this particular night. In fact, he had not been able to sleep well ever since he had been back from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He could not switch his mind off, it seemed, for all kinds of thoughts were running around in his head over and over again. It was enough to drive anyone crazy. He forced his mind away from the dark thoughts and found himself reflecting on Lydian.

Lydian, who had died because he had dared give in to the weakness of love. Voldemort, too, had been reduced to a wretched state after having been defeated by a power he could not understand; love. In both cases, love had proven to be the cause of their downfalls. However, Lydian had had the power to save himself, but he had chosen death, whilst Voldemort chose to return. Lydian had let himself be destroyed completely, but Voldemort, not so.

Had Lydian deserved what he got? After all, he had killed the family of the witch he had fallen in love with! His soul had been tainted; how could he possibly have expected to live a happy life? And were his descendants condemned to suffer the sins he had been responsible for? If the Malfoys were the descendants of Lydian Hydras, weren't they also the descendants of that innocent witch? But the witch had in turn exacted revenge by killing Hydras. That might explain why the Malfoys, from one generation to the other, have always had a murky cloud over their heads. Indeed, Draco does not remember when he had once laughed out of sheer heart-warming happiness. That might never have happened. It might not happen at all in his lifetime.

Draco sighed, watching the candles flicker in the chandelier. There was an uneasy, suffocating feeling in his chest that he could not quite get rid of. He slowly got up to his feet, tall and very handsome. He had not changed into his sleeping clothes yet and was still clad in his black jeans and black shirt. Draco combed his fingers through his blond hair as he climbed up the spiral stairs.

As was the case whenever he was home, the glass pane separating the balcony from his room was opened wide. Gusts of wind swept inside his room, battering the fire at the hearth. Sirin's head turned as she looked at the attractive, but distraught, teenager that had come inside. The lovely eagle owl was poised on the crystal table where Draco's school materials lay. Draco could feel the warm, affectionate vibes emanating from his pet, and he walked across the room, drawing the chair to sit at his table. He lifted his hand to pat Sirin's head, and the eagle owl nipped at his hand fondly.

Draco stared at the night black diary that was still unopened on the table. He had taken it out from behind the Lighthouse painting hours ago, but had not brought himself to write in it yet. Indeed, to be able to write, he would have to blank his mind first, and then let the words flow from deep inside of him. However, right now, he could not quite achieve that. He could not quite block the thoughts that were racing in his head. Writing his thoughts down was something of an exorcism for him. If he did not write and bare his mind on paper, he often felt as if his thoughts would destroy him. Since he was not the kind to confide in friends, his diary fulfilled that role.

Getting up abruptly, Draco walked to the sliding glass pane and closed it. He had never been sensitive to the cold, but the chilly night air seemed to be getting to him. The fire at the hearth at once ceased flickering harshly and now cackled languidly in the stillness of the room. Draco sat back down at his table and opened his diary.

_It has not really been a great year, Diary. I feel somewhat messed up inside of me. I do not really know from where to begin. But as they say, when you are in doubt, look at the source of things. So, I think it best to start from the very beginning, a few days before my fourth year at Hogwarts. _

_I remember writing down the last time how excited I was that the Quidditch World Cup was going to start soon. Well, I did go to the World Cup alongside my parents. We sat with Cornelius Fudge, and I even had the opportunity to boast in front of the Weasleys. The bunch usually expect jibes from me, and it would have seemed unusual if I didn't gratify their expectations; only then would their happy little world appear normal._

_And Granger was with them too. Oh, I better leave that subject till later._

_But then, after the celebrations, something happened. People started panicking, and Muggles were being attacked. Father was getting truly distressed. He kept rubbing at his hands and would not answer my questions. He wanted us to hurry home as fast as possible, but I happened to see a small Muggle child who had been bewitched to hang in the air about a hundred metres away. Nobody was really paying attention to her. I just dashed in her direction. It was bizarre but I did not really think about what I was doing. _

_In the fray, I lost sight of both Father and Mother. The place was real chaos - tents were on fire, and people were screaming and stampeding all over the place. The Dark Mark had appeared in the sky._

_I jumped and reached out to the terrified child. Her Muggle parents ran in my direction and snatched her from me before making for the woods. The Ministry would have some troubles putting memory charms on all those Muggles, I thought at that time._

_I knew that Death Eaters, back in the times of Voldemort, used to cast the Dark Mark in the sky, but I first thought it could have been a prank of someone. There was no way Voldemort could have returned. But then I saw the dark hooded individuals swooshing around the place. They had to be Death Eaters, and they would not only be after Muggles but Muggle-borns as well. _

_Granger's face flashed into my mind then. I remembered seeing her with the Weasleys and Potter. They would be able to protect her, but still, I wanted to make sure she was alright. Just then, I spotted them looking distraught and not really understanding what was happening._

_It was time to act again. With a beating heart, I leaned against a tree to fake nonchalance as I tried warning them. They did not acknowledge it, but I succeeded in cautioning them! They would not take the risk of hanging there when they had Granger with them._

_There were more Muggles being attacked, but I was not given any opportunity to intervene, even stealthily, as Father snatched one of my arms and that of mother's as we returned home via a Portkey._

_It was the first time I had seen Father that anxious. I knew there was something on his mind that he was not willing to tell me. I was pretty damn sure it had to do with the Death Eaters. I was ordered to my room as he and Mother retired to their own room. I could hear them talk in lively tones, but then the sounds suddenly became muted. It was very likely that Father had put a 'Mutendo' spell on the room so that no sound escaped._

_In the morning after the World Cup incident, I tried asking Father if he knew something, but he avoided the question by telling me about the Triwizard Tournament that was going to take place that year. I did not press the matter with him as it seemed to distress him even more. _

_And then, the summer holidays came to an end, and I went back to Hogwarts. The school welcomed the Triwizard champions and a queer individual had appeared on the scene - Alastor Moody; at least, everybody was fooled into thinking that it was the Professor Moody and not Barty Crouch Jr. as everybody later learned._

_Even as Dumbledore introduced him, many could tell there was something not quite right with the guy; never mind his rotating, all-seeing eye. I hated him, but I'll come to that later._

_First, our dear foe Potter was chosen as a Triwizard champion! As much as I believe him to be a stupid show off, I still believed he could not have willingly put his name in the cup as the tournament was a very dangerous one, and he was still not of the required age to participate. It was immediately obvious that the other stupid head, Weasley, did not trust his friend when the latter explained to him that he had not put his name there. There was silly Weasley flashing his insecurities to everyone!_

_It was quite intriguing, and if not clear to others, clear to me that somebody was after Potter's skin. Nonetheless, Potter being chosen by the cup gave us, in Slytherin, another source of entertainment. Ah, the badge 'Support Cedric Diggory', and when tapped flashing 'Potter Stinks'. It was all for a good laugh, really!_

_Had to be nasty to Granger, of course. It did not give me any pleasure; it never has, but that too, is expected from Malfoy. Insult Granger, and lower yourself in her eyes to the point that she ends up not giving you any importance anymore; to the point you become merely an unpleasant git with no power to hurt._

_And then, there was the first of the three "taches", as the girls from Beauxbaton say. The first task was one involving dragons. I loathed it. I hate seeing animals used for the silly entertainment of wizards! The dragons were chained and had to protect eggs. Krum, the Durmstrang champion, used a Conjunctivitis Curse on the unfortunate animal. I would have sworn aloud at him if I did not hear Hagrid shouting over everybody else against Krum; giving Professor McGonagall a difficult time restraining him. Never thought I would have one thing in common with that big oaf!_

_Mad-Eye Moody came on the scene after that. Potter had dared insulting my mother. It did not really matter to me, for people like Potty do not know how to insult others. Still, I wanted to scare him off with a spell that was purposefully meant to miss him. Just then, that despicable Mad-Eye came on the scene. There I was, towering over many of the students, and a second later, I was at eye level with the green grass and being bounced up and down for the amusement of others!_

_I dimly registered that I had been transfigured by Mad-Eye, and then, McGonagall intervened. Moody had had to return me to my human form. If that is what it feels to be a ferret, I think I'd sympathise with that specie the rest of my life._

_I don't think I've ever felt as humiliated as I had been then. It did not matter that everybody was laughing; even the Slytherins were having difficulties hiding their giggles. But I did see Granger smile. It made me even more furious and mortified. The pain was nothing. _

_At the next opportunity I got, Potty and I fired hexes at each other but as they connected in the air, misfired. Mine had, unwittingly, hit Granger. Pansy was laughing like mad. It took me all my determination not to rush over to Hermione! I was not amused the least bit. In the end, she was okay, just a bit shaken and had to go to Madame Pomfrey's to have her teeth returned to normal. I did not like seeing her in tears!_

_Then came the Yule Ball. Granger was magnificent. It did not surprise me, but I was momentarily lost for words. Even if she was Muggle-born, she had always seemed cute to me. This time, even her friends acknowledged how breathtaking she truly is. I tried to get rid of Pansy whenever I could and stayed in the shadows, watching Granger dance with the dunce, Krum. It was the first time I experienced real jealousy. Weasel did not seem very happy either, and in the end managed to upset Granger who clearly would have wished Weasel to accompany her._

_She seemed to have truly forgotten about me. It was also the first time I was regretting the use of the 'Obliviate' spell. _

_Pity I did not have a Time-Turner… If I did, that night it would have been Granger with me in the old tower, not Pansy. I would have showed shooting stars to Granger, not Pansy. I played the violin for Pansy that night, whilst picturing that it was Hermione with me, in the old, abandoned tower…_

_Pansy is nice enough when she is not being nasty to Muggle-borns! It was an ordinary composition that I made up on the spur of the moment. I guess Pansy was very surprised to know I could play the violin. I had to transfigure a fallen brick into a one in order to be able to do so. Pansy was, indeed, quite ecstatic to have me playing for her; nevermind the unremarkable-ness of the tune in question!_

_Later that night, when Pansy had gone back to sleep, I returned to the derelict tower. I just could not shrug off Granger's face from my mind. To kill time, I started playing; losing all notion of time, as was usually the case whenever I happened to have a violin in hand. When dawn came, I had finished composing a tune - 'Forbidden Escapade'. It is a name fitting enough for the brief but unforgettable moment Granger and I shared about a year ago, on that exact same date, in the same abandoned tower. _

_I wished Granger was with me. But if she had been there, I'm afraid this Draco would not have been brave enough to put another 'Obliviate' spell on her. And then, who was to say Granger would have liked to be with me? She has forgotten about me. She did not feel the love that I'd been feeling - that I am feeling. I've pushed her in Weasel's arms, and for me she will stay a dream, a bittersweet yearning; an unquenchable thirst for something forbidden. However, I'll have to forget about her soon enough. These thoughts in my mind are more dangerous than ever. They'll be even more dangerous for those around me._

_Sometime after the Triwizard champions had been selected, Rita Skeeter, the scoop-hungry Daily Prophet reporter, was approaching students to ask them tidbits of insider information. I did not mind feeding her already voracious appetite for reporting false news. It was all for fun sake, and it was an interesting, insightful exercise. Some day, when I have my own magazine, she will be the type of reporter who will stay forever jobless. She is the type of journalist who makes false news appear spicy whilst real happenings, for her, hold no appeal. That is where she wastes her writing talents; if she happens to have any. She does not seem to understand that real facts, instead of fabricated ones, are the most interesting!_

_In the end, it was no other than clever Granger who figured out that Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus; a beetle! Couldn't resist praising her then, and it caught me off guard. But I quickly disguised what I let slip by making an unfavourable allusion to Cedric Diggory. I knew it was going to end up with me covered in hexes, but I fully deserved that._

_Dead Diggory. Potter gave everyone quite a shock when he came out of the labyrinth with the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory. He was killed on the orders of Voldemort. Potter kept saying that Voldemort had returned. Many would not believe him; anxious as they were not to come out of their comfortable bubbles. _

_I know better._

_Father has rejoined the Death Eaters._

_It came as something of a shock to me. I did not realize the full extent of what it implicated to be a Death Eater. It just seemed something so remote, until our lives changed overnight. Father never talked about his activities as a Death Eater before. However, when I came back from Hogwarts, I had to ask him what happened back in the graveyard where Potter and Diggory had been transported via the tampered Triwizard cup, and what his being a Death Eater truly meant._

_Back at school, I had refused to toast to Diggory's memory because it did not seem the thing to do for me. If Voldemort had returned, it would have meant that Father had joined the ranks of the Death Eaters once again. I was already stained if that was the case, so how could I pretend I could coolly raise my cup in the memory of the dead one? Crabbe and Goyle seemed to misinterpret that as my approval of Diggory's death! They are truly very dense! If I had wanted Cedric killed, why would I have come up with the badge asking people to support Diggory and ditch Potter?_

_Had father seen Diggory being killed? How could he have allowed that to happen? What did being a Death Eater really mean? Why the hell had I contented myself with the knowledge that Dad had been a Death Eater? Why had not I asked him what he used to do under Voldemort's order? Such were the questions that kept churning in my head. How could all of those sitting in that Great Hall accept that one of them had died so easily? It then struck me that I had not asked because I feared the answer. I had to stop living in a bubble as well._

_And the first thing that I asked father when I reached home was how he could have allowed Voldemort to kill Diggory! It was not necessary to ask whether he had joined the Death Eaters. The shadow of fear on his face was enough to confirm what I suspected. Once father started talking, he could not stop. He told me about the horrors he had done when he had been with Voldemort all those years back. The bubble around me disappeared forever, in an excruciating silence._

_Diggory had already been killed even before the Death Eaters had been summoned to Voldemort. But father confessed that, had he been there when Diggory was killed, he would have done nothing to prevent it. That answer devastated me. He explained how once you are a Death Eater, you cannot go to not being one, and nobody ever dares to go against the Dark Lord. Others that had not responded to the call such as Igor Karkaroff would be paying with their lives, he said._

_Father confessed he used to torture Muggles. At that point, I wanted to throw up as he continued with the horrid descriptions. He said he had angered the Dark Lord when he had not responded to the Dark Mark late summer, at the Quidditch World Cup, and Voldemort seemed to hold that against him; alongside the fact that the Malfoys were among the first families to join the other side._

_When he finished, I sat there in shock until Mother came over to me and asked me to regain my room. She said she will not have me implicated in these matters and that I need not think about this. She also warned me not to associate with Muggle-borns and the blood traitors for the umpteenth time._

_I could not say anything. I did not know what to say. I know convincing Father to leave the ranks of the Death Eaters would be futile and stupid. It would be like telling him to write his own death note._

_But what could I do? I did not choose to be born in a family that had once been Death Eaters as they are again now; although it is now very much part of my identity! I disapprove of who Voldemort is and the ignominious things he does, but how could I possibly prevent Father from joining his ranks without Mother and him being at risk of their lives? _

_I feel so bad and powerless. I am very much tempted to join those fighting Voldemort; even if that means associating with despicable Potters and the likes! How dare they complain that their life is difficult when they have the freedom to choose their sides? How can they complain when they are not having to compromise with their conscience by freely fighting against Voldemort? I've always taunted Weasley as being from a wretched family, but at least he is fully behind his family in their stance against Voldemort._

_I am on the wrong side, and the best I can do is fight by staying on the wrong side; helping those against Voldemort stealthily. We'll see how things turn out._

_Until next year, it is Goodbye and Adieu from me._

**End Notes:** It seems to be a downhill trek for Draco where his feelings are concerned...will he survive it?


	5. Chapter 4: The Cup of Despair II

**Chapter 4:**** The Cup of Despair II**

**After Draco's 5****th**** year at Hogwarts, a few days before school started again.**

The stars were twinkling feebly in the night sky, and even if it was summer in England, a chill seemed to hang perpetually in the air. Draco sat on his balcony's railing, uncaring that the intermittent strong gales could upset his precarious balance. He had managed to locate the belt of Orion even if it would have been easier to do so in winter.

The belt consisted of three stars called Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka. The Orion constellation contained other stars of course, and one of those was called Bellatrix, just like his aunt. The word _Bellatrix_ was supposed to mean female warrior. The belt of Orion could be used as something of a celestial signpost to locate other constellations and stars. In a straight line from the Orion belt, the brightest star in the night sky, Sirius can be located.

Sirius is part of the Canis Major constellation and is also known as the hunter's dog; the hunter being Orion. How queer that Sirius was an Animagus and could transform into a dog. It was possible that his parents had named him after the star. He himself had been named after the Draco constellation.

Draco could see Sirius shining in the sky, but the Sirius that the wizarding world knew was not shining anymore. Indeed, Sirius had been killed by Voldemort's female warrior, Bellatrix.

Draco had met his aunt, for the first time, a few days ago. There had been a mass Azkaban breakout, and Bellatrix Lestrange once again roamed free. Draco had spent his summer holidays training his mind in Occlumency. He could not bear it to be discovered that the person who he really was, was horrified with all that Bellatrix or Voldemort represented. He could not let his aptitude at the violin, paintings, and his forbidden feelings for Hermione Granger be revealed if a devious Legilimens, such as Bellatrix, tried to penetrate his mind. Indeed, Hermione Granger would have been very much at risk if Bellatrix learned of her nephew's feelings for a Muggle-born.

Draco had also met with Voldemort after Lucius Malfoy had failed to retrieve a prophecy at the Department of Mysteries, found at the Ministry of Magic. The Dark Lord was as repulsive as Draco had imagined; pulsing with evil the same way Draco's head was now pulsing with a sickeningly painful throbbing. Draco knew he should have unburdened himself in his diary, but he could not write beyond the few lines he had jotted down. Thinking about what he had to do was already eating at his mind; reflecting on what he was about to do might make him weak; writing about the mission Voldemort was going to give him soon would make him loath himself to a point he would be unable to come out of.

It was much better to let his demons possess him.

Let the year pass, Draco thought miserably; a year he knew would slither at a tortuously slow pace.

His lovely silver-grey eyes fell on the diary, which lay on the crystal table in his room. Its pages were being eerily turned by the wind. On the last page that he had written, one could read the following words:

_Did a brief comedic stint as member of the preposterous Inquisitorial Squad. Foul Umbridge would have excelled as a Death Eater._

_Father is in Azkaban. Mother hasn't been in great spirits either._

_Father failed to retrieve Voldemort's prophecy and was captured by the members of the Order of the Phoenix._

_The Dark Lord has a mission for me. Rumour has it that the mission is to kill Hogwarts' headmaster, Professor Dumbledore._

_I can't summon the courage to write anymore._

_Adieu, Diary._


	6. Chapter 5: Hallucinations

_Note: I think Draco would agree that you should be warned off from nibbling on snacks while you are reading the first part of this chapter... _

**Chapter 5: Hallucinations**

**After Draco's 6****th**** Year at Hogwarts**

_**The entire world has turned so black**_

_**Like a dark, unlit forest track**_

_**A strange, scary figure has started singing**_

_**Soon, he will start dancing**_

_**To the waltz of the devil**_

_**In a little while, he will rush out for the kill**_

_**Hallucination is the name of the faceless figure**_

_**He causes reality to dim into a sharp blur**_

_**Ruthless and wily**_

_**The tricks up his sleeve are always crafty**_

_**He leads depressed souls to the pit of snakes**_

_**Reducing their sanity to simple flakes**_

_**Urging them to jump in**_

_**And thus, commit the ultimate sin**_

An enormous snake with black and orange scales was lazily uncoiling itself from the balcony railings. It slowly slithered into his room, leaving a slimy brown trail in its wake. The snake had patches of its blood red flesh showing even if it seemed unbothered by it. Each of those patches was swatted by swarms of big, black flies. Draco was sitting on the edge of his bed, immobile. The monstrous snake twined around his shoes and made its way up, slowly coiling itself around his waist whilst he could do nothing. It languidly squeezed the air out of Draco's chest, and some of the black flies buzzed around his face.

Sirin, his eagle owl, was being devoured by an army of maggots on his crystal table. Lifting his eyes up with some difficulty, he could see his owl bathing in its own blood. Its wings had been cruelly sheared off its body, and fine white bones were sticking out of its twisted neck. The smell of rotting bird flesh and stale blood made Draco intensely nauseous, but he did not have the freedom to empty his stomach.

It was very dark. The enchanted candles and fire hearth had finally gone out. A suffocating stillness had besieged his room, and no air entered the accursed place, regardless of the fact that the glass panes that gave onto the balcony were wide open. The snake strengthened its hold some more, making Draco breathe in the foul odor in choking gasps. His eyes were smarting with the rancidness of it all. On his left shoulder were pieces of decaying flesh; human or not, he could not say.

A thin, black crow flew in and landed at the crystal table. It peered at the macabre feast for a moment before picking at one of Sirin's eye and flying away. Another crow, larger than his comrade, flew in and picked at some of the white, tiny writhing creatures. Soon, a flock of crows descended into his room, invading all free space. Their wings flapped convulsively but produced no air. Instead, Draco felt as if a large stone had been placed on top of his chest. He wanted to shout, but his lips felt as if they had been permanently sealed. Malevolent whispers, full of scorn, were filling his head:

_You deserve it, Draco…yes you do…_

_You vile, vile boy…_

_You deserve to be tortured. You will not die, Draco. You will stay the way you are now for eternity. You will beg for air but far from being fresh, you will get the fetid, cloying stillness. You are not a hero. You are a coward. Cowards deserve such fates._

I'm not, not a coward, thought Draco.

_Oh yes, you are! Look at Harry Potter, why are you not like him? You are neither as courageous, nor as selfless as he is. Look at Ron Weasley, he is brave, and he has Granger's love. You are pathetic. You deserve your fate, Draco. You were not able to protect Sirin. Look there, it lies in a decaying mound. No one loves you, Draco. Your mother hates you. Your father hates you. Granger hates you._

No! Granger doesn't hate me! She once said that she was falling for me, Draco tried to reply to the cunning voice in his mind.

_You are such a deluded fool! Fall for you? No, I don't think so, you dimwit. She was forced to say that! You forced her. She said those words because she wanted to escape you! It is Ron Weasley that she loves. They will triumph over Voldemort. They will marry and have kids. They will be a happy family forever._

_You, Draco, are an insignificant, insufferable excuse of a human being. You have no friends and neither will you ever have any!_

That's not true, Crabbe and Goyle are –

_Crabbe and Goyle? They are not your friends! They were just stuck with you because your father had influence and loads of money. Now that your father is in Voldemort's disfavour, they hate you! They don't care about you! The world does not care whether you live or you die. In fact, they will be better off without you. You are a burden on Earth; a shame of a wizard. You deserve to stay for eternity in the suffocating stillness with only the rotting snake, the black flies, and murder of crows for company. You will not be granted death, Draco. There will be no escape for you. You are damned Draco, damned._

No, thought Draco, no. I don't want to end like this, he tried to say to the cruel whisperer. The snake was making it difficult for him to breathe; he could feel blood running from his nose and reach his lips. The flies were trying to smother his eyes, and the black crows had started picking painfully at his neck. The floor of his room had suddenly opened, and a pit of snakes hissed at his feet. They all had punctures on their slimy bodies and were covered in buzzing flies.

No, Draco was saying to himself. If only he could say that aloud. He felt that if he managed to make some sound, they will stop tormenting him.

"No—No—NOOOO," screamed Malfoy, and instantly the scene dissolved. He was still sitting on the edge of his bed, and his room was no longer dark and cloying. The candles and fire hearth were still flickering softly. The cruel voice inside of his mind had disappeared. The wind swept inside, and Sirin was perched on the chandelier above. Her wings were undisturbed, her feathers only slightly ruffled with no bones peeking out of her body, and her warm eyes looked down at him curiously.

Draco gulped in air and was more than relieved that it was fresh and not putrid or decaying. There were no snakes about, no black flies and no crows. He wiped the back of his hand across the fine sheen of sweat that had appeared at his forehead. It was only another of those hallucinations, he said to himself. He had been unable to sleep for days, and his tiredness was making him see things that were not there.

He got up from his bed and retrieved his diary from the back of the Lighthouse painting. He did not even take a moment to glance at the painting he had done what felt like decades ago. The light from the lighthouse was greatly dimmed as a thick serpentine fog enveloped the latter. Dark clouds obscured the stars, and no moon was present. Angry, black, mammoth waves crashed relentlessly against the bleak, lonely structure. The little boyish figure perched on the railings was playing a mournful tune on his wooden fiddle, and streaks of black tears were flowing from his silver-grey eyes. Shivers racked his drenched body. The dolphins and whales were gone. No ship dared venturing in those treacherous waters; not even out of compassion for the desolate little figure. It seemed as if nobody cared about him or what would happen of him.

Draco sat himself at his table and, opening his diary, started writing with the dim hope that it would chase away his personal demons for a short while.

_Six years has passed since I first came to Hogwarts, and this is probably the last time I'm writing in this diary. Many things have happened: fell for someone I shouldn't have; made only superficial friends; Voldemort has returned to power; countless people have been injured, and the great wizard Dumbledore has been killed, and a whole carefree era has now disappeared with him._

_Looking back on those six years, they passed in the blink of an eye, but I am still the same old despicable Draco. Why was I ever born? Is it to witness others becoming heroes in front of me? Is it to act the gutless bully all of my life? Is it to act as others' stepping stone to glamour and fame? Is it to love and to have to let that love go? Is it to watch Voldemort exacting punishment on my mother and father? Is it to loath myself with every passing second? What is the purpose of this all?_

_Damn, it feels as if I am going crazy! Why the hell should I go on living? Voldemort must kill me! I know mother would not let him, though. She, too, might sacrifice herself like Potter's mother did years ago._

_At the start of the year, his Putrid Lord assigned me the mission to get it over with old Dumbledore. I knew he did not expect me to succeed, nor did I want to! Katie Bell accidentally touched the cursed necklace that Dumbledore should have received. Could not she have been more careful? I directed her not to touch what was inside the packet when she was under the Imperius Curse!_

_And the second attempt failed as well. Weasel King tasted the poisoned mead that Dumbledore should have drunk._

_The third attempt succeeded. I repaired the Vanishing Cabinet; the one at Borgin and Burkes, as well as the other one in the Room of Requirement. It was from there that the Death Eaters were able to come into the school. Dumbledore had come back from one of his errands and was in a piteous state, which made me wonder what he had been up to. I was not able to kill him. Snape finished him off in my place._

_I could not quite believe it. Dumbledore trusted Snape. How could he? But then, I have no right to judge Snape. I tried my best at my cowardly act of killing Dumbledore, even if I failed. The Death Eaters created havoc at Hogwarts. And that foul werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, was with them! It was a shock to see him! There were so many innocent students, and that lascivious being looked as if he had come to a feast._

_Seeing Dumbledore die like that threw a strange sense of unreality over everything that was happening. Snape asked me to run and I did, like the tainted person I was. I kept asking myself whether I was trapped in some kind of nightmare, but Bellatrix's jarring laughter in my ears kept confirming what kind of trash I was. I had facilitated the killing of Dumbledore, let the Death Eaters inside Hogwarts and exposed innocents to scums of the earth such as blood lusty Greyback. All of that, why? Because Voldemort had threatened to kill me and my family? Why did I ever accept? What did I not let him kill me off? True, I did not want him to kill my parents!_

_I am so useless! I can't fight with the other side, nor fight with the side I am trapped in. I am doomed to be in the middle, unsure of what I have to do or where to turn to! So contemptibly pitiful! Who the hell do I turn to?_

_Granger, Potter and Weasley have been fighting since the very start. They know what they have to do, and they most probably will not return to school next year. They have their courageous mission to fulfill, whilst I have to bear with my craven, whining existence. It just feels like a dagger twisting inside of me, and the sad thing is that it is not even painful!_

_That must be how Lydian must have felt! A dagger pierced his heart but that was not what hurt him. It was his own revolting person that was hurting him. It was the person who he had once been; a pitiless monster that had killed the family of the one he loved, but in the end had come to bitterly regret his act. Lydian was so wretchedly enraged even as he lay dying because he was not feeling half of the pain he wanted to feel. That is why as he lay dying, he morphed into the majestic dragon he was, so as to feel the dagger sink deeper into him. That too did not suffice; he let himself burst in a million tiny pieces. Only then did he get the peace he sought!_

_I feel like him, but I know there is more to come. I have not suffered enough to burst. There might be things I can do to help undo Voldemort without the latter knowing! There must be some pathetic help that stupid Draco can offer!_

_Adieu and Goodbye, Diary…these have been my last words written here._

_You are going straight into the fire, but worry not, I fear I'll be joining you soon enough._

…..

**End Notes: **"That it should come to this!" - Hamlet quote (Act I, Scene II)


	7. Chapter 6: The End of an Era

**Chapter 6:**** The End of an Era**

_**The End of an Era**_

_**The Candle has burnt itself**_

_**The Rain has spent itself**_

_**The Wind has moved to other lands**_

_**And Time has forgone its sands…**_

Voldemort was dead, and he, Draco, had played no part in the fiend's downfall! Voldemort's power and cunning had been of no use for the latter till the very end. In his lust for power and eagerness to conquer death, the Dark Lord had been blinded and had failed to conjecture what Potter had so quickly learned: the Elder Wand's story. And, to say that he, Draco, had disarmed Dumbledore and been, albeit for a short time, master of that wand.

Draco did not care about the Elder Wand. He was not caring about anything as he stood in the partially destroyed Great Hall, amidst so many people who had bravely fought the Death Eaters. His mother and father stood just behind him. He saw Luna speaking to Potter; and the Boy Who Triumphed soon disappearing beneath his invisibility cloak. Hermione sat with Ron, and if he was not wrong, they were holding hands. They too, shortly, disappeared under Harry Potter's cloak. Everyone had fought with all of their heart and resolve.

He had done nothing.

Draco had witnessed countless people being tortured and killed when he had come back from Hogwarts. It had been for the Easter holidays in his seventh year. He had witnessed Charity Burbage, the professor who taught Muggle Studies, being tortured, killed and ending up as dinner for Voldemort's snake, Nagini.

He had done nothing.

He had witnessed Hermione being put under the Cruciatus Curse. Not once, but seven excruciating times.

He had done nothing.

He had feared that if he showed he cared about a Mudblood, that it would have been the Killing Curse that would have hit the girl he loved, instead. When he had been asked to bring Griphook upstairs from the cellar, on his way in the darkened corridor, he had conjured up a sound proof spell and summoned a very fearful and confused Dobby. Draco had not been sure that the elf would come, as the elf had been freed. Yet, the goodhearted elf had heeded his call, even if the Malfoys were no longer his masters.

"I'm glad you came, Dobby, don't be afraid! I've not time to explain. Apparate in the cellar and save Harry Potter and his friends! Do that as soon as I retrieve Griphook from there. Potter is your friend and he freed you, and now, you can thank him properly. Take everyone and go far from here! Go!" Draco had urged the little house-elf.

Dobby had looked at him with tears sparkling in his big, round eyes.

"Master Draco is not—is not the only one who has asked Dobby for help, Dobby has been summoned by the owner of Hog's Head, Aberforth Dumbledore-" The little elf had started saying.

"No time, Dobby! Go I say!" Draco had ordered the elf and had knelt down briefly to hug the little creature.

"Thank you for everything, Dobby, thank you for the violin," Draco whispered almost inaudibly. Dobby's tears were falling freely now. Draco wiped at his own face as Dobby Disapparated and lifted the spell that muted sounds.

Draco had known that he had no right to ask Dobby to put his life in danger, but he could not think of any other way to help the prisoners. He had asked Dobby to take Potter and the rest, and had been very astonished on seeing Potter and Weasley escaping from the cellar; no doubt, to save Hermione and Griphook. He should have thought about that. They were not the sort to leave their friends.

Draco had been doing some fast thinking to find a way to get Hermione and Griphook to safety. However, as Potter and Weasley had rushed in, Draco had had to, surreptitiously, jinx the Death Eaters so that the Dark Lord's minions did not impede their escape whilst trying to duck hexes from the courageous trio.

In the end, amazing Dobby had Apparated once more to save them. Draco had witnessed the knife of Bellatrix flying to meet Dobby's side, powerless to do anything to stop the weapon's trajectory…

There, Draco knew, he had caused the death of the first being that had genuinely made him smile; the first being who had known what would make Draco, when he had been merely a child, happy. Draco had thought of the broken violin then, and his hand had gone up to his neck and felt the small, wooden G-clef pendant hidden behind his black shirt. The piercing pain in his heart kept getting more and more acute.

Dobby was gone. And so many others, such as Crabbe, had died too.

And he had done nothing.

Draco remembered how Crabbe, Goyle, Flint and he himself had once, in their fourth year, disguised themselves into Dementors to scare Potter. It was with some difficulty that he had lifted himself up onto Goyle's shoulders. Trying to stand there without losing his balance whilst wearing a large cloak was quite a challenge! Potter had sent a Patronus at them, and they had ended up making a fool of themselves.

He recalled how they had been scolded by McGonagall, and once they had regained the Slytherin Common Room, all four of them had been unable to hold back peals of laughter. Such times would never come back again. He would never be that fourteen-year-old attending Hogwarts again. He always thought he never liked the school, but now that he was not ever going to be offered the possibility of going back again, he knew he had appreciated the years he had spent there.

Those years would never come back. There would be no more Quidditch matches against Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. There would be no more sitting back at the Slytherin table and making fun of others; no secretly stealing glances over where Granger usually seated herself at the Gryffindor table. Those times were forever gone; how could they have passed by so quickly?

He could not even credit himself with having helped in saving Granger and the rest from Malfoy Manor! Indeed, Dobby had already been asked for help by Aberforth Dumbledore.

Even Snape had been working for Dumbledore and not for Voldemort, as every one else including himself, Draco, had thought. Why could Snape not have told him? He could have helped. But nobody trusted cowardly Draco. Draco was a teenager with unremarkable powers. He had never distinguished himself the way Potter and his friends had. Why should anyone ask for him to fight evil alongside them when he himself was evil?

_I will never deserve Hermione Granger_, thought Draco.

The seventeen-year-old was remembering their escapade in the abandoned tower four years ago. Oh, it seemed so very far away and felt as if it had all been a beautiful dream both of them had lived. However, on waking up, one of them had their brief encounter seared in his mind whilst the other one remembered nothing of that bittersweet exchange. Now, he will have to be separated from her forever. He could not live in the shadows, watching her fall into the arms of someone else. Nobody had an inkling of his feelings for her, and they will probably never know.

Hermione would go on to live her life with Ron Weasley, and he could only wish for her to be happy. He knew his love would never die. Indeed, love was eternal; only people died, and it is said that if the love has been true, the Universe will conspire to bring them together again. So maybe not in this life, but he had hope that in another one, lovely Granger would be his…

It had greatly pained Draco to hear that Snape, too, had loved and had that love snatched from him. The pain that man must have carried inside of him must have been tremendous! Still, Snape had died courageously fighting Voldemort, and the same could not be said of Draco…

Minerva McGonagall was still addressing all those gathered in the Great Hall, but her words were not reaching Draco's ears. The war was over - even though the clash with his own self was only starting.

Draco walked away from where he was standing, and his parents quickly followed him. Nobody paid them the least attention. They had never mattered.

Outside, the sun was shining bright. Its warmth, however, could not penetrate him. The cold fog that had enveloped him for the last few years seemed thicker than ever. Thorns were pricking at the back of his eyes.

"Draco! Stop! Where are you going?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, putting a stilling hand on Draco's shoulders.

Pitch black curtains were gradually falling onto Draco's eyes. The cloying feeling of the huge snake encircling him was gaining more and more hold of him. He wanted to disappear. He did not want to see the sun anymore; he wanted to sink into the darkness of oblivion.

"Let me go, Mother," he said, quietly.

"Draco, what is this?" Lucius Malfoy asked, worried to see his son looking so frightfully detached. Both Narcissa and Lucius felt that something was wrong. They could feel their son slipping from their hands. It was some time before Draco responded.

"Mother, it is time for me to leave this place," Draco answered quietly. He did not find in him the power to explain. He was slowly suffocating in his own body. He gently dropped his mother's hand from his shoulder and started running as if his life depended on it.

He Disapparated a few seconds later, leaving his parents exchanging stunned and horrified glances in the deserted Hogwarts grounds. Birds could be heard lively chirping and twittering in the trees of the Forbidden Forest. A cloudless blue sky stretched to the horizon. There was an odd, cathartic feel to the air.

The Great Hall's audience started coming out in pairs and in groups. Some chatted quietly amongst themselves, others stared listlessly at the destruction, but all of them looked upon the Malfoys not without feeling some slight dislike and resentment.

Nobody noticed or cared that Draco Malfoy was gone.

In the meantime, Draco had landed with a huge splash in a muddy pool. He had fallen so hard on his right arm that one of the bones inside could be heard snapping harshly. Raising his eyes with some difficulty, he realised that he had landed in a place where no living soul had come out of alive. Thousands of Dementors swarmed about and were precipitating avidly towards him. It was very dark and the air beheld a deathly frost. The stench of rotting flesh pervaded the place. Draco had lost his wand when he had fallen down and was now groping blindly into the thick, black mud with his left hand.

He found it at last. The Dementors were circling him now, not at all in a hurry to suck his soul out of him; they wanted to savour their rare meal. Draco held his wand tightly in his hand and turned it so that the tip pointed towards him.

"CRUCIO," he bellowed ruthlessly. The intense pain that overwhelmed him caused him to point his wand away at once. His eyes were swimming and, strangely, the Dementors stayed quite immobile, as if watching him through the dark, abyss-like holes they had instead of eyes. Draco was not paying them any attention, though. He still had six more times to go.

"CRUCIO," he cried out a second time. Again, no success; as soon as the severe pain besieged him, his reflexes directed him to point his wand away. Five more times, he said to himself, five more and the Dementors would be allowed to do whatever they wanted to with him! The soulless creatures were becoming more agitated again. They were trying to come nearer to him it seemed, without success.

"CRUCIO," Draco shouted, hexing himself once more with an Unforgivable Curse. This time, he succeeded in keeping his wand pointed in his direction for a while longer. The pain was beginning to feel as if a live fire was consuming him, and he pointed his wand away. His left hand was trembling convulsively. Don't think, don't think, he urged himself.

"CRUCIO!" It was the first time a wizard was using a wand against himself. Tears were freely falling from his eyes and blood poured out from his nose. Three more times, he thought.

The Lighthouse painting in his room, back at Malfoy Manor, was in flames. The lonely structure was gradually blackening, and the little blond figure with the violin was on fire as well. The handsome boy's silver-grey eyes had died out. The boiling sea seeped out of the picture, carving deep tracks into the bluish-dark, granite wall and burning holes in the marble floor of Draco's room. The beautiful painting was well on its way to combust into ashes…

"CRUCIO!" Draco raised his eyes up to the mountain ranges ahead. They were black and blurry. He could feel the crimson liquid flowing from his ears. The inside of his head felt as if it was being cruelly whipped. The Dementors were performing some kind of eerie dance around him. They were not coming near him anymore. He lowered his wand for a little moment of respite before crying out again.

"CRUCIO!" He was screaming now. It was some sort of odd release. He was screaming for all the times in the past when he had wanted to do so but could not have risked showing his concern. He had wanted to scream when a year ago the Death Eaters had entered Hogwarts and wreaked havoc there, even if it was his fault they had gotten inside the school in the first place. He had wanted to scream when Voldemort killed Charity Burbage in front of him; he had wanted to scream when Bellatrix had tortured Hermione; he had wanted to scream when he had seen the knife hitting Dobby's side.

All those times, he had just bit his tongue so as not to let any betraying sound come out of his mouth. Draco found that he could now keep the wand pointed on himself for much longer. One more time, he thought. The Dementors were going round and round him so fast that he was feeling dizzy and nauseous. His whole body was now trembling. He felt his wand sliding from his slippery hand, but he managed to tighten his hold on it. It felt as if every pore of his body was tearing - he could take it no more. Draco pointed his wand away and let himself fall in the shallow, muddy water. His breathing came at jagged intervals. All strength had left his body.

That proved to be a wrong move, though. As soon as he had let himself fall down, the Dementors crowded on all sides of him. No, he thought, no, he still had one more of that Unforgivable Curse remaining to be inflicted on his piteous self.

"CRUCIO!" cried Draco, for the last time. He could feel the skin of his back opening up in deep gashes. The will to fight at once deserted him. The thousands of Dementors pressed themselves on him, eager to be the one to perform the Death Kiss on the latter. The muddy pool in which Draco lay was gradually turning to black ice. His fingertips were freezing, and he felt ice coating his lips. There was no hope, only despair, thought Draco.

Think of something that makes you happy, Draco faintly urged himself. He could not summon any cheerful thought, however. It is better if they take away my soul; it is of no use, he reflected bleakly. He closed his eyes-he was dying. He would never see Granger again. What wouldn't he give to have a few seconds in the abandoned tower with her for a last time…He was remembering their kiss...

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Draco shouted. He felt something incredibly warm shooting up from the tip of his wand. The wand had vibrated so violently in his palm that Draco had lost his hold of it. It could not have been enough, thought Draco. There were thousands of Dementors here. _The Land of Dementors_ was a place he had only read about.No one who had had the misfortune of venturing here had been able to go back to their families. There was not going to be anymore storytelling around cosy fireplaces for them; no more hugs from their loved ones, and they would never feel the warmth of the sun again.

Draco did not know what was happening to the Dementors, and neither did he have an inkling of what was happening to him. Had he been given the Death Kiss? Had he died? It did not seem to matter anymore.

His could not open his eyes. It felt as if he was hovering from a great height. Strangely, the scorching pain in his heart and body was subsiding.

Soon, Draco Malfoy's consciousness was lost to the world…


	8. Chapter 7: The Awakening

**Chapter 7:**** The Awakening**

_**Six Thousand Years Ago**_

_**A cave in the forested outskirts of Haaraya village, Ancient Egypt.**_

"My sons, have you completed the work?" the old woman asked the group of grave-looking men who had just emerged from the cave. They were dressed in simple white tunics and had slung small velvet bags containing workmen-tools over their shoulders.

"Yes, Wiroa Sine." They had called the elderly woman 'good mother'; it was the traditional way of addressing elders in their community.

"The Creature has been buried, and the dark box has been sealed. The Wirous have taken over now. We have been asked to take our leave." The men bowed before continuing on their way.

"Wiroa Nubu, what are the Wirous doing inside the cave?" the old woman's grandson asked. He twirled a dark curl of hair in his chubby fingers.

"A terrible, terrible curse has struck our lands, my little one! The Wirous are getting rid of it. We must not talk of this!" the old woman admonished the little boy who stood by her side on the forest track. The child's brows were deeply furrowed as he fruitlessly tried to peer inside the cave.

"It is not prudent to stay here, you heard your Wirou Nubu. He said he would come back as soon as he finished his work." The boy had accompanied his grandfather to the entrance of the big cave. However, neither he, nor his grandmother had been allowed inside. At present, with stooped shoulders and hands clutching his clay figurine, the boy made his way back to the village. His young mind could not have understood that the well-being of the village depended on the success of the Wirous' dangerous undertaking…

A group of hooded men stood inside the cave. They were the Wirous; the wise men of Haaraya village. Torches burned along the walls of the cave. Their flames cast a warm reddish glow upon everyone present and reflected off the crystal-like surfaces of huge stalactites adorning the ancient ceiling.

An odd looking man stood some distance away watching the proceedings with an air of deep concentration. He was dressed in an indigo cloak that was embroidered at the hem with threads of golden silk. He also wore a tall, pointed hat over his waist-length mane of blond hair. This strange man was the one to have brought the Arctic Willow for the Head Priest. Indeed, that specific plant was an essential component of the ceremony taking place.

The Head Priest had allowed the peculiar foreigner to stay, for the man was not only knowledgeable in the matter at hand but had also helped in capturing the Cursed Creature. Besides, the two of them had been long time friends. It was a friendship that the other Wirous never understood. Their Head Priest was a short, stocky man who was always very friendly. His friend, however, was a good-looking, tall blond man who never cared to speak with the Wirous. On the contrary, he oftentimes seemed disapproving of them. His name was Lydian Hydras.

Seated in a dark corner of the cave, a young teenage boy was offered a moment of respite. He had been playing a numinous tune from his violin-like device, but had now been asked to stop for a short time. The tune, with its heavy and mournful pace, had almost drained him of all his energy. Even if the musical instrument was rudimentary-looking, it had been carved out of the dark red wood of the Euscakypta and therefore had magical properties. Indeed, the fiercely struggling Creature had been petrified and sealed under the Earth with the violin's help!

Now, in order to wrap up the ritual, the Head Priest would have to walk to the cavern's lake and dip seven times into the crystal clear water.

Soon, the teenage boy was given the authorization to resume playing. The melody the boy played this time had a lighter, almost playful rhythm. It caused the fine, sparkling ruby particles of dust coating the walls of the cave to gently detach, hover in the air for a few seconds before gracefully swirling down into the lake of the cavern. The water gradually acquired an emerald tinge, and a golden mist rose indolently from its glittering surface.

With a splash, the Head Priest immersed himself into the emerald liquid. He emerged a while later, reciting some odd-sounding incantations aloud. "Escarraa Tesquinus Nato Pualtlo, Escarraa Tesquinus Nato Pualtlo…" He repeated this whole process for six more times. This part of the magical ceremony consisted in bewitching the words that the Priest murmured to reverberate across the walls of the immense cave for thousands of years to come.

Afterwards, the Priest walked to a round altar, which was encompassed by a triangle of pink and blue flower petals, erected in the middle of the cave. Water dripped continuously from his thick linen sarong and left a trail on the ground. On the altar was a heart_-_shaped earthenware bowl containing the twigs and dried leaves of the Dwarf Blue Arctic Willow. The Priest proceeded to set the leaves of the Willow alight with the tip of a wooden stick. This burning of the Willow leaves gave birth to a beautiful flame. Indeed, the flame had a pale pink core which was enclosed by a vivid dark blue mantle. The Wirous formed a circle around the Priest and joined their hands as they chanted prayers invoking the protection of their gods.

Once the ritual came to an end, the People of Haaraya would stop fearing for their lives. Things would return back to normal. The Creature had been lured to the cave with great difficulty; the Wirous had to ensure it stayed in the grave for as long as possible. Even though petrified in body, its mouth could not be sealed. The Creature could still scream piercingly. In a short while, a muting spell would be put on the cave. Its cries would thus be forever prevented from reaching human ears.

The strangely dressed man would then walk with the Priest to his home in the village. Together, they would resume their perusal of an old parchment for hours and days to come. The trapping of the Cursed Creature would have been merely a brief, albeit strenuous and necessary, undertaking for the two wizards to accomplish.

**The Awakening**

_**Awoken from its millennia old slumber**_

_**With a renewed appetite for human-flesh supper**_

_**Its parched throat demands to be appeased with blood**_

_**And its reason has long drowned in the Vengeance Flood**_

_**Present Day **_

_**A huge cave surrounded by the Sahara desert, Egypt.**_

Archaeology was the passion of the five British students who came all the way from the University of Bristol in England to a forgotten cave in Egypt. The five students have been working for eight hours straight now. Black rubber boxes and sealed plastic containers were strewn haphazardly around the place, filled to the brim with bones, pieces of broken vases, and charred remnants of ancient torches.

The Merua Cave, as it was called, seemed to have been a sacred burial ground. The walls of the cave were a dull brown, and strange rituals were depicted on them. Also, a lake seemed to have existed in the cave, for the remains of shells and fossil algae were being steadily uncovered.

Presently, Stacy sat cross-legged on a foam mat and was carefully scrubbing away sand particles off an ancient artefact with what looked like a make-up brush. Kathy lay full length on the sandy soil and was currently absorbed in scouring a small area, by means of a leaf trowel, with precision and care. A few metres away, Brian dug at the earth with a spade whilst Kevin shovelled up the unneeded rubble in a wheelbarrow.

Elena, on the other hand, was not actively involved in any of the excavation works. She sat in fascination in front of a weighty metal box they had unearthed two hours ago. Despite their numerous efforts, they had failed to lift or move the box by even a mere inch! Elena happened to be working on a thesis whose title was _"Locksmithing: the forgotten science and art of ancient civilizations"_. This particular find had been a downright gift from heaven for the young woman.

Indeed, the curious box had a very complex, ancient locking system. Elena tried turning one of the several tiny black lion heads adorning the box. This manoeuvre did not seem to have any effect on the lid; it remained tightly closed. Instead, two sharp bronze pins swiftly surged forth from the eyes of the metal lion head, and jabbed at her fingers before silently retreating to their hiding place. She had been wrong to think that the lion head would prove to be some kind of mini door knob!

Alerted by Elena's cry of pain, Professor Laurence Alcott raised his eyes from the queer tablet Stacy had discovered hours ago. Professor Alcott was an expert at deciphering ancient writings. Upon Stacy's find, he had explained that the strange tablet was a Defixiones; that is, a tablet on which a curse had been written. The Professor of Archaeology, absorbed as he had been in decoding the voces mysticae, had remained quite oblivious to what had been happening around him.

Presently, he carefully placed the Defixiones on a foam mat and walked to where Elena still clasped her injured fingers in open mouthed astonishment.

"Bring the first-aid kit, Brian, quickly!" he asked. He took hold of one of Elena's wounded fingers and, curiously, placed it over a narrow runnel that had been intricately carved into the box at the origin by ancient craftsmen. Drops of blood trickled down and raced along the elaborate path of the runnel before seemingly disappearing. A moment later, a muffled grumble was heard.

"No, that is impossible!" thought Elena. She had read about blood being used to break through different kinds of enchantments. That could not be real, though! In fact, it was the superstitious stories told to her by her grandmother, when she had been only a child, which had led her to study archaeology. She was suddenly remembering those stories now, and how frightened she had been of those children's tales! Angry monsters that lusted after blood and were held imprisoned underground did not exist, did they?

Professor Laurence Alcott, however, seemed thrilled. He roughly bandaged Elena's injury, even neglecting in his excitement to disinfect the wound with antiseptic lotion.

"What was that?" Brian asked apprehensively.

"Just some odd echo. It's nothing important. Continue with your work!" The professor walked to where the tablet lay, sat himself down, and was once again lost in his deciphering exercise.

As the clock ticked by, the Professor and his students seemed to have forgotten they had to return to their makeshift tents before nightfall. The local Bedouins had warned them against staying in the cave after sunset. It was believed to be the haunt of malevolent spirits. Yet, their English audience had hardly paid any attention to that wise warning.

Kevin, tired of sifting through debris, came to sit near Elena.

"Want a bite?" he asked genially, peeling the wrapper off a bar of chocolate and shoving it under her nose.

"Yes, thank you! I'm famished!" Elena answered, accepting her friend's offer.

"Be care-foool!" Elena cautioned a moment later, forgetting that her mouth was crammed with chocolate. Kevin was taking his turn at trying to figure out how to open the ominous-looking box.

"You're calling me a foo- Ouch!" He, too, had been pricked by the pins. He drew out his handkerchief and was on the point of wiping his injured finger, when Professor Alcott abruptly jumped up from his seat, rushed to where Kevin sat, and roughly seized the finger of the younger man with his left hand. The Professor still firmly clasped the Defixiones in his other hand.

"Professor, what are you-" Elena started enquiring, but was interrupted by Professor Alcott who motioned her to keep silent. The rest of the students gathered around Kevin to observe what was happening.

Professor Alcott did the same thing he had done with Elena. He let Kevin's blood flow into the runnel; although this time, he also muttered some strange words. His eyes never once wavered from the curse tablet. Soon, an ear-splitting groan filled the cave. There was no mistaking this time; that scary sound had undeniably come from beneath their feet!

"Did you—did you hear that?" Kevin asked tremblingly. The others did not have the courage to answer. Their feet felt glued to the ground. Goosebumps had appeared on their arms, and they all started to sweat rather heavily.

"Let's get out of here!" Stacy whispered. "This isn't right!"

"No! It is best if nobody moves!" Professor Alcott quietly urged.

All of a sudden, the lighting fixtures installed in the cave by the students went out. The screen of Elena's laptop flickered for a little while before going black. They were now drowned in complete darkness. A faint burning odour reached their noses. Maybe if they had been children, they would have allowed themselves the luxury of screaming their lungs out. Except, unfortunately, they happened to be rational university students. They no longer had the childhood privilege of crying out when confronted with something sinister.

They found themselves starting to think of England and their homes. What had made them choose this work? If they succeeded in escaping this evil place, would they dare return? Was there a possibility of dismissing the strange whispers filling the place as some kind of resonance due to the morphology of the cave? There had to be an explanation as to why unnatural, bloodcurdling murmurs came from directly beneath where they stood!

"ESCARRAAA…TESQUIESS …PUALTL… ESCARRAAA…TESQUIESS …PUALTL…ESCARRAAA…TESQUIESS …PUALTL…" groaned the invisible creature over and over again. It sounded like the muffled howling of a wind trapped underground which was desperately seeking a way to escape. No human being or animal could make such kind of noise. The students lifted their hands to their ears in an attempt to block out the cries of the hidden creature. They should have heeded the advice of the Bedouins!

A few minutes later, the cave went resoundingly silent. This made the small protesting noises originating from the black box stand out more prominently, though. It seemed as if the locking mechanism was being slowly unlatched. Something was opening the box from underground!

**End Notes:** What happened of the archaeology students and their Professor? What happened of Draco? Where is Hermione and the rest of the HP characters? Read the next chapters to find out!


	9. Chapter 8: Birthday at the Burrow

_**Chapter Notes: **Would you like to elope with him? I know I would!_

**Chapter 8:**** Birthday at the Burrow**

Hermione sat in front of the beautiful mirror and stared unseeingly at her own reflection. She absent-mindedly arranged the two roses, which Ginny had insisted she wear, in her hair. On this day, twenty-three years ago, she was born. Fleur, Bill's wife, had presented her with a new dress that now lay on the bed. It was a knee-length garment of a lovely peach colour with lace frill sleeves and a scalloped hem.

Hermione had wanted her birthday to be celebrated at her home itself, in Lyminster, which was in the south of England, but Ron Weasley had convinced her to come to the Burrow. Hermione had not wanted to give his family any trouble. However, Molly Weasley had insisted there was nothing she would more love to do than prepare a wonderful birthday dinner party. Molly had also dropped hints about a surprise awaiting her. Therefore, together with her parents, Hermione had come to the Burrow about an hour ago. She had been given a very warm reception by the Weasleys. Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and even Hagrid had, likewise, greeted their friend with much enthusiasm.

Hermione was now an accomplished young woman working at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Just a day before, she had been able to persuade the Ministry to do away with theCommitteefor the Disposalof Dangerous Creatures. She had personally drafted the paper proposing the abolition of the Committee, and it had been applauded. A new law which contained provisions concerning dangerous magical creatures was now in the process of being written. Its focus was on the special care and handling required by the so-called dangerous creatures: how they were to be looked after, rules overseeing the reinstatement of those animals in their natural environments, and how they were to be observed once released in the wild. Hagrid, known for his great love of all animals, was being of great help throughout all these undertakings.

Hermione had, evidently, been motivated to work on this particular project because of the experience she had had in her third year at Hogwarts with a Hippogriff. The magical beast, albeit innocent, had been in danger of being executed. It had been a typical case of a wizard's word - a teenage wizard at that - against a poor animal's silence, and in such a scenario, if a coin were to be flipped, very predictably, either side will show the same winner. Hermione had successfully argued that the possibility of an innocent magical creature being executed was disproportionately high. This was because the belief that wizards had absolute command over the animals - and thus could do anything to them, even inflicting the worst of cruelty over the beasts - was still widespread.

On this special day, however, strange thoughts were filling her mind. She was also feeling queasy inside. Indeed, Hermione could not understand why she felt as if something was missing in her life... She should be the happiest of girls! She loved her work. Everybody was proud of her achievements. Ron was her boyfriend; the other Weasleys were all very nice and warm. Voldemort had been destroyed six years ago, and everything was fine in the wizarding world! Then, where did the uncomfortable feeling inside her chest come from?

She could identify some of the unease as being guilt. Ron's family was always unfailingly kind to her. There was no reason for her to feel as if she was being pressed into some kind of invisible wall! Hermione sighed and got up from the little wooden stool she had been sitting on. Ginny's room still contained pictures of the Holyhead Harpies. This time one could even see the red-haired witch smiling from within the ranks of its players. Posters of the Weird Sisters were up on the walls as well. Its lead singer had bright purple-coloured hair and was bent over a guitar.

On the make-up table were numerous pictures of the Weasley family. In many of them, she could see her own happy face looking back at her. In one of them, Ron's arm was around her waist. It had been taken a year ago at the Quidditch World Cup in Australia. The Cambodian team had triumphed over the Bulgarian team, the previous Quidditch World Cup winner, and had caused a sensation in the world of Quidditch!

Indeed, the then relatively-unknown Cambodian team had deployed a vast array of amazing moves, brilliant tactics, and prodigious skill. The enormous stadium had erupted into delighted "oohs" and "aahs" during the entire length of the game. It had lasted merely an hour, though. The whole of the stadium had been disappointed when the Cambodian Seeker caught the snitch, for it symbolized the ending of a most fascinating game. "Match of the Millennium," they had called it! Hermione was not a great fan of Quidditch, but she had been enraptured by the brilliance displayed by the Cambodian team as it unfolded its pioneering arsenal of Quidditch moves.

The Cambodian team, in an interview to the Daily Prophet, had attributed their success exclusively to their mysterious coach who had not made an appearance. They confessed that their coach had been the one to devise the complete assortment of ingenious moves and strategies.

It was seeing the Cambodian team play so wonderfully that had prompted Ron to encircle Hermione's waist in sheer delight and kiss her cheek. Hermione had felt very embarrassed, though, for one of the magical big screens had temporarily diverted its attention away from the game, and had taken to showing the fans in the stadium. It had chosen that same time to zoom on them. Ron had immediately released her, turning beetroot red all over. Hermione had managed a nervous laugh. They had been endlessly teased by family and friends alike afterwards.

There were also pictures of when they had been in Dumbledore's Army on the table. Hermione bent down and scooped the picture into her hands. It had been taken when the founders of the DA had been in their fifth year. She sorely missed those times. Most of the smiling faces in there had gone on with their own lives. Hermione could see a laughing Fred Weasley standing with his arms slung across the shoulders of his twin brother George. Fred was no longer amongst them now. So many good people had died in that battle… Sighing again, Hermione gently placed the picture on the table.

Donning the beautiful dress, she walked to the window and raised the blinds. In the distance, the glorious sun was setting over the long stretch of green meadows, draping them with a fiery orange veil. A pair of robins flew to a wild cherry tree before swiftly disappearing in its dark-green, leafy foliage. Down below, in the back garden, five gnomes sat around a tiny, cosy fire. They had cleared a small area by pulling out clumps of the overlong grass. The gnomes were, at present, busy feasting on cabbages, carrots, and peas. Molly Weasley would be furious.

The flower boxes under the window contained bright yellow Leopard's bane, Hollyhocks, and Dandelion clocks that were in full bloom. The globular dandelions were particularly arresting as their fibrous centres held the dusky rays of the setting sun captive. Raising a hand to her hair to prevent the two peach roses from falling, Hermione bent herself over the window sill and softly blew over a dandelion head. She smiled as the tiny parachutes gracefully twirled down, some falling on the blades of the green grass, others mingling with the weeds and moss of the overgrown turf.

Feeling a light breeze touch her face, Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in the pure countryside air.

…**.**

Five years had passed since Hermione Granger finished her seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had been the only one of her friends to return to the school after the confrontation that had led to the annihilation of Voldemort. Throughout that year, she had never felt totally at ease - not because she had been a year older than the rest of the seventh-year students, but for the reason that the faces which had accompanied her from her first to sixth year were no longer there anymore.

No one had chided her or called her "Mudblood!"

"Now, where did that thought come from?" wondered Hermione. "Why am I thinking of that particular personage on this day?" Yet, as soon as the face of the boy with the sandy blond hair flashed in her mind, it obstinately refused to leave! No, Hermione had not missed that boy in her seventh year! Why in the world should she ever indeed? She should have felt relieved that the one who had constantly taunted her in the past had not been there! No one had sniggered or mimicked her behind her back.

Certainly, everybody, to Hermione's intense discomfort, had been quite in awe of her because of the role she had played in the war against Voldemort. She also happened to be one of Harry Potter's best friends! Hermione had only ever known one person at Hogwarts who had never been genuinely impressed by the Boy Who Lived.

Back in her seventh year, the students seemed to have expected her to carry Harry's autographs wherever she went! Professor McGonagall had come to her rescue then. The new Hogwarts headmistress had threatened to transfigure the students into walking autographs if they dared to bother Hermione again. The threat had kept the students away even if Hermione had known Professor McGonagall would never use transfiguration as a punishment.

Hermione had served as head girl, and it had been a rather uneventful year. The peaceful state of affairs had been quite welcomed of course, since the former seventh-years had given her a dose of adventure that would last a lifetime! Besides, she had not had to be on the constant look-out for the blond boy who had, previously, made it a pastime to goad or bully others. No one had disturbed her onboard the Hogwarts Express; no one had entered her compartment without permission so as to make some contemptuous remark. And, everything had been orderly in the corridors of Hogwarts.

She did spot a cute ferret in the grounds once, though. She had left her books by the lake, where she had been sitting, and followed the furry animal. It had simply run off to its hiding place where the smaller female had been waiting. Slapping herself lightly on the head, Hermione had returned to her textbooks. She had had to read the same line five times over before being able to understand its meaning.

In fact, all of Hermione's grades had been "Outstanding" at her N.E. that year! She had not had time to ponder over futile things! Nonetheless, if she were to be honest with herself, Hermione was sure her excellent grades betrayed how hard she had laboured so that the blond profile of a certain person did not disturb her every waking thought. Indeed, in her seventh year, a queer thing had started happening and it still did, occasionally. She had started dreaming about an abandoned tower in Hogwarts, and she had not been alone in there…

She remembered how in the middle of the night, she would wake up screaming "No!" The other girls in the dormitory would rush to her in alarm. They usually bestowed compassionate glances upon her, thinking she was having nightmares about the battle that had occurred the year before. She had felt rather guilty for she knew it had not been a cry of fright, but a cry of sheer panic that he should leave her. She had never felt as keen a sense of loss as she experienced when the dream ended, and her eyes opened onto the real world.

Yet, whenever she fully came back to herself, she tried shrugging off those dreams as inconsequential. It dismayed her not to be able to share who she saw when her eyes were closed; she certainly could not afford to confide in Ginny. Even if she and Ginny shared many of those girls' talks, Ginny was still Ron's sister. She could not disclose to Ginny that she had feelings, which seemed to run very deep in that recurring dream, for someone other than her brother, especially since that someone had never given her a second thought, had never even exchanged a kind word with her, and despised who she was - a Muggle-born.

Why had those vivid dreams been haunting her? She had not the faintest inkling as to the reason behind that! Weren't dreams supposed to be a window to one's subconscious? Why should _he _be imprinted on hersubconscious? Why did it always feel like her heart was breaking into a million pieces every time she woke up and found out it had all been a mere dream?

It was very disquieting that it should have come to the point where having to separate herself from the individual in her dream made her feel reluctant to wake up. She had had the same dream again, last night, and was still unable to shake off the lingering melancholy that had gripped her.

Also, whenever she was awake and happened to think about the dream, she was always filled with a strange longing. There was always something…mysterious, elusive that seemed to be at arm's length. Yet, every time she tried to grasp it, it felt as if she was trying to close her fingers around a wisp of cool cloud that suddenly sprouted small, thin legs and rushed out of her reach in fright. That image often made her laugh even if it was frustrating not knowing what it was her mind was so desperate to know about. Some invisible barrier was thwarting her every attempt at uncovering the mystery, though.

At night, she had made it a habit of putting some perfume on herself, arranging her hair properly, and doing all those little things which women did to attract men. Her purpose was not to catch the attention of someone, though; she just thought she might meet someone in an old tower again - even if that happened only after she fell asleep. Although she had long ago noticed that she always dressed in her Hogwarts robe in the dream, she still lingered a tad bit longer than was necessary in front of the mirror. She could not resist it. The prospect of an encounter with him always made her want to look good. She did not want to give him any reason to criticize her. However, in that dream, he was rarely unpleasant to her. On the contrary, he was quite perfect…

Hermione remembered when, six years ago, instead of going to Hogsmeade to have butterbeer and relax in the company of her new friends, she had preferred to make a little excursion to the towers of Hogwarts to identify the one in which she usually found herself in the dream. She had visited nearly all of them, and had begun thinking that the tower, too, did not exist. The last tower she visited dispelled that notion, though. It had the tallest spire and was located on the far south side of the castle, a mostly unused area. A set of spiral stairs made of dark granite had led upstairs. As soon as she had found herself in that abandoned tower, a very sharp sense of deja vu assailed her. She had felt faint with the jumbles of emotions that rushed towards her and pinned her in situ for a long while.

After she recovered, she had slowly walked about the place, unable to understand why her heart was beating so fast - as if she expected him to materialize from her dreams at any moment. She had known he would not, though. _She_ had been the one going crazy with those weird dreams, not him. The floor had been strewn with old discarded books, candle stubs, and white cushions. Underneath the cushions were two half-hidden, rolled-up parchments. Normally, she would never have opened someone else's paper to read what was inside, but on that occasion, she had been unable to stifle the curiosity gripping her.

On opening the two scrolls, the very elegant penmanship had caught her eye. "Could the handwriting have been his?" she had asked herself. The parchments had not seemed very old either. She had used the _Revelio Inkum Aetatis _spell to find out the date on which the author had written on the parchments. The spell was designed to reveal the age of writings not more than five years old. Hermione had been in her sixth year when the first parchment was written on. The writing was about how the author had been feeling. Hermione mentally quoted it.

"_I might not have tears in my eyes_

_I am a boy, I do not cry_

_But my heart is shedding tears of blood_

_It I stop it, I die_

_Life has strewn a path of hot embers for me_

_Barefoot I must walk_

_My clever Rose has been snatched away_

_And thorns stalk me along the way_

_I might not have tears in my eyes_

_I am a boy, I cannot cry"_

The writing on the other parchment dated a year later from the first. In that one, it seemed as if the author was trying to reassure the one he loved. Hermione could, however, feel that he had been trying to reassure himself at the same time.

"_Oh my heart, my love_

_It is just a brief parting_

_Bear with it bravely_

_Never cease smiling_

_Our destination is calling for us_

_Love is its name_

_Now is the Season of Separation_

_But it will pass away_

_The darkness will dissolve_

_The storm will abate_

_A path will be cleared_

_And we will reunite _

_Our destination is near_

_It is not an impossible dream_

_Oh my sweet one, don't cry_

_It is just a little wait…" _

Underneath this particular piece was something she had been unable to read: music notes.

Hermione reminisced about how she had sat in that ancient tower as the hours stretched by, holding those parchments close to her heart. Bittersweet emotions had assailed her, and she had felt the sadness of the author acutely. "He must have been a sensitive soul," she had uttered aloud. "What could have prevented him from being with the one he loved?" she had wondered. Sitting in that tower, alone with the thrumming silence, had been a surreal experience. She had wondered whether she was dreaming or awake, but she succeeded in convincing herself to get up and leave, for it was no use sitting there and feeling dejected. Could the war with Voldemort have been the cause of their separation? Or could it be that now, the author was already reunited with the girl he loved?

She had speculated about the identity of the author at that time. She still thought about it often, but had no answer. Could the author have been the boy who had taken to haunting her dreams? It could not be _him_, could it? Why would _he_ be writing things like that? It had then struck Hermione that she did not know much about the blond boy after all.

And it was a pity she could not identify the handwriting! She had never seen the handwriting of the former Slytherin prefect either! It was a shame. They had attended the same classes so many times before. It was also true, however, that he had never cared to be her friend; she had not cared about him either! Hating her for being a Muggle-born, he had always kept his distance from her. If _he_ had been the author, for whom could he have written such things? And why did she feel something faintly, only very faintly, akin to jealousy whenever she thought about that? Emotions could not be that irrational! Besides, they had to originate from some kind of legitimate source - such as shared past experiences; feelings stemming from the legendary Fountain of Dreams did not exist!

In that seventh year, Hermione had often caught herself looking at the Slytherin table, many times expecting to find the one who had been the Slytherin prefect seated over there, making some kind of joke at her expense. She had been unable to understand the slight, very slight tug at her heart when she found someone else seated in his place. The Slytherin common room must have been singularly dull without the blond prefect to animate discussions!

Without doubt, Hermione Granger had not missed Draco Malfoy; but, inexplicably, his absence had not left her indifferent.

…**.**

Hermione opened her eyes and sighed deeply again. The stars were coming out. Several bright ones twinkled in the distance. Big puffs of cloud lazily navigated across the night sky.

"Where was the Slytherin spoiled brat now?" she wondered. It was a real mystery. The feelings she had for the blond boy confused her, she having never felt those when the Slytherin brat prince had studied alongside her. It could not be romantic feelings. That was unthinkable! Could it be care then? She was curious as to what happened to him, but she was not concerned about him! No, she was honestly not! But now that he was gone, she felt queer and somewhat ill at ease.

She loved Ron, didn't she? But above all, didn't she deeply dislike the blond boy with the cold grey eyes? She had been together with Ron for six years now, and Ron had, understandably, been pressing her for them to get married. She always refused, telling him she did not feel ready yet. But she should have been, shouldn't she? They had been best friends, a friendship bond that had transformed into love. They should have been a very happy couple. Their relationship had suffered some strain lately, though.

Whenever she was with Ron, she felt as if she was being unfaithful. Indeed, it queerly felt as if she was betraying the boy in her dreams.

It was utterly unreasonable and unspeakably silly!

"I must contemplate a visit to St. Mungo's soon if this continues," thought Hermione.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Hermione, have you finished? Come quick, we're starving!" came Ginny's voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry to keep you all waiting. I'm coming in a moment!" replied Hermione.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I'm sure you look divine, as always! You don't want to give my brother a heart attack, do you?" joked Ginny. Hermione heard Ginny descending the creaky stairs two steps at a time.

"Ginny!" chuckled Hermione to herself. A swift glance at the mirror told her she had stood by the window far too long as the wind had ruffled her hair. She set about arranging it properly.

…

Meanwhile downstairs, Molly Weasley was busy setting the table. They were going to dine outside, in the garden, as the kitchen was too small and crammed to accommodate all the guests present. Mrs. Granger, Hermione's mother, was trying her best to help even if the moving kettles and pans, levitating jugs and plates, and gnomes that had to be constantly chased away puzzled and distracted her.

Penelope, Percy's fiancee, was helping Fleur and Angelina put the final touches to the garden. Soon, glittering golden and blue stars streamed from the sky, stopping only a few metres above their heads. A beautifully decorated banner saying '_Happy Birthday Hermione'_ hovered over the table. Small red and white hearts with flapping wings wafted from the leaves of the trees, and paper lanterns, in the form of lotuses opening and closing their large petals, hung from the branches.

"Stop there! Stop there, you naughty brats!" George entreated as he chased after the four-year-old Luke, who was Bill and Fleur's son. Luke, in turn, chased after the two-year-old, Kathy, who was George and Angelina's daughter. Kathy, on her part, ran after Chase, her three-month-old Labrador Retriever, who had stolen a lilac tinsel garland and was running away with its prize in its mouth. None of them paid the least attention to George.

Inside the house, Arthur Weasley was engaged in a lively chat with Hagrid, Mr. Granger, Percy, and Bill. Charlie, who was still in Romania, had sent an owl saying that he would be unable to come as he had to look after an injured baby dragon. Hagrid had greatly praised Charlie after hearing this.

Some distance away Harry, Ron, Luna, and Neville sat together, engaged in an animated conversation of their own. Presently, Ginny came down and joined them.

"Where has she been all this time?" asked Ron, annoyed. "Why do girls take so much time to get ready?" observed Ron, turning to Harry and Neville.

"Who knows!" replied Harry. Neville shrugged.

"You guys wouldn't understand!" replied Ginny. "Anyway, Hermione is coming right away."

"Oh, didn't you know, Ron," Luna intervened, "it is because of dreetles. They are miniature pixie-like creatures. They live in bedrooms and love to tie knots in well-combed hair. It takes time to talk to them. Often, to persuade them to go away, you have to sing a song to them."

"Ah, right," muttered Ron.

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Ginny eyed each other surreptitiously. In all those years, Luna had not changed! She still talked about invisible creatures nobody had ever heard of, except maybe her father, Xenophilius Lovegood.

"How was your last paper for the Auror Qualifying Exams, Ron?" asked Neville.

"It was okay, Neville. I might have messed up over the last question, though. Couldn't make the distinction between Bullswort Disguise and Bullswart Disguise. It fails me how knowing that could ever be of any use to an Auror! Even Harry here, who passed the Qualifying Exams two years ago, doesn't know the difference!"

"He is right!" replied Harry.

"I suppose Hermione would know the answer. Haven't you asked her?" Luna questioned.

"Oh, no need to bother her over this!" Ron brushed off the question, suddenly very interested in garlands decorating the ceiling.

"What about you, Neville? How does being a professor of Herbology at Hogwarts feel?" asked Ginny.

"I love it!" he answered. "Oh, the students are very naughty, and they answer back a lot. Not at all how we were like when we were students! But there are always some who are very interested in magical plants. We have been able to breed some Bombardier Anthora successfully! It is a cross between Yellow Monkshood and Indian Aconite. Very deadly, but extremely efficient to treat all kinds of poisonings. Its leaves are crushed to obtain the juice. A tiny drop of it diluted with healing moon tonic water will suffice."

"That's great, Neville! Have you already obtained a wizard patent for its use, though?" asked Harry. "I am sure it would be very useful in our tasks as Aurors."

"That's right," Ginny joined in. "It won't be of much use in Quidditch when I play with Holyhead Harpies, but Harry is always telling me about highly-venomous magical fauna and flora he comes across!"

"I have already filed a patent application with the Ministry. I hope it will be approved soon," beamed Neville. "I'm not the sole inventor of this, though."

"Who else helped you, Neville?" asked Luna.

"_The Passion Serpent_!" replied Neville, excited.

"Really! How is that?" shrieked Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Luna at the same time.

"As you all know, _The Passion Serpent_'s editor-in-chief hardly ever answers the millions of fan letters he receives," Neville stated.

"Yea, that is indeed very true!" replied Ginny. "I have written to him many times before! He never answers."

"He is amazing!" continued Neville. "You remember how three years ago, he published an extraordinary potion that could be used to heal those debilitated by the repeated use of the Cruciatus curse upon them. Thanks to that, my parents have been able to leave that ward at St Mungo's. They are still weak, but they can talk and use their limbs properly now. They'll be completely healed soon!" Neville wiped at his eyes. Happy tears had welled up in Ginny and Luna's eyes too.

"You are right, Neville. _The Passion Serpent_'s editor is bloody brilliant," said Ron.

"Yes. Well, I wrote to him many times before thanking him for the potion. He never replied. However, I was having a difficult time trying to find a way to use the juice of the Bombardier Anthora. I tried diluting it with many mixtures but they all failed. You know I have never been good at potions! I then decided to write to him, and he replied suggesting I use moon tonic water to dilute the dosage. And it worked!" laughed Neville.

"What is moon tonic water?" asked Harry, turning to his friends. "Sounds like I've heard about it somewhere!"

"I dunno, mate!" Ron shrugged. "You are right. It does sound familiar!"

"It sounds familiar because it featured in an old edition of _The Passion Serpent_. Two years back, to be exact," replied Luna.

"True!" exclaimed Ginny. "It is water that has been collected on a moonless night and kept in the dark, covered by a black scarf, until the next full moon. It is then taken out and placed outside, in a rose quartz bowl, during the whole duration of the full moon. Three different healing crystals are placed in the water. Muggles know about moon tonic water, but they don't know how to make it properly," she explained.

"Also, after placing the healing crystals in the water, you have cast the spell 'Sanare Aqua' to it," added Luna.

"Exactly!" agreed Neville. "Moon tonic water, as the name suggests, has very strong healing properties."

"I wonder what this crazy guy, Ladon Hydras, has been up to this time!" Harry said. "I suppose we'll find out tomorrow, in the next issue of _The Passion Serpent_. He seems to have a knack for tracking down dark wizards. It is almost as if he can read their minds! _The Passion Serpent_ is becoming something of an indispensable tool for Aurors."

"You are right, Harry! He has a flair for them. And he is always experimenting and inventing all kinds of spells and potions! He has got to be one of the most powerful wizards of our age!" added Ron.

"He sure seems brilliant. He is always solving countless mysteries, making new discoveries, and that column of his entitled 'Insight into the fascinating minds of witches' should be read by all men on Earth! I wonder how old he is!" sighed Ginny dreamily.

"Why do you want to know his age?" Harry asked, furrowing his brows.

"Don't be jealous, Harry!" Ginny chided teasingly.

"What? I'm not! For all the things he knows and has experienced, he must surely be an old wizard with white hair and a long floor-length beard!" exclaimed Harry.

"That can't be true, Harry," Luna joined in. "If he were really that old, he would not have been able to describe views of sunsets and sunrises on tops of mountains such as Kilimanjaro or Everest, or find out about rare magical animals and plants in the heart of dark impenetrable jungles. You cannot Apparate in those areas as they house powerful magic."

"That's true, man!" Ron said. "That guy is no Gilderoy Lockhart! He doesn't brag. He gets straight to action! You guys know what I have managed to get for Hermione's birthday?" asked Ron, looking very proud of himself.

"Ladon Hydras's autograph?" suggested Ginny offhandedly.

"How the hell did you know that?" Ron asked, stumped.

"YOU GOT LADON'S AUTOGRAPH?" shrieked Ginny. "How did you? I was just naming the present you would be least capable of getting for Hermione!" Ginny confessed.

"Well, you thought wrong, didn't you? It was very easy!" Ron beamed.

"But how did you?" Harry and Neville asked together, as utterly astonished as Ginny and Luna were.

"Well, I simply wrote a message to _The Passion Serpent_'s Headquarters requesting an autograph. I said that my girlfriend greatly admired the editor-in-chief and that since her birthday was in a week's time, whether it would be possible to have Ladon's autograph!" Ron answered. "You won't believe it! I received a small velvet box from _The Passion Serpent_ in less than an hour! It probably contains the autograph; I haven't opened it. It is best if Hermione opens it herself, first!"

"Wow! That's amazing! Ladon Hydras hardly ever gives any autographs! Hermione would be thrilled! I'm not going to bed until I have a look at it!" declared Ginny.

"I wonder why _The Passion Serpent_ came into existence only four years ago. Its very first edition was literally snatched by millions across the world! What could Ladon Hydras have been up to before that?" Harry reflected aloud.

"Nobody knows!" Ron answered.

"Yes, he is a very mysterious man!" Neville acknowledged.

"_The Passion Serpent_, although being a quarterly, has nearly put the Quibbler out of business," Luna confessed. "Thankfully we still have a very loyal, like-minded reader base! Father has always refused to read _The Passion Serpent_. However, I have found him secretly reading the magazine when he thinks I'm busy counting Jumping Scrumptraphs."

"What are Jumping Scrump-?" Ron started asking, but was interrupted by Molly Weasley who came in and announced that dinner was ready.

"Great!" shouted Arthur. "I'm starving. I tell you, Hagrid, the lunch at the Ministry of-" Arthur Weasley abruptly stopped in his sentence; his eyes, like those of everyone present in the room, had turned to the light steps descending the staircase. It was Hermione. She looked resplendent.

"Who would have believed kids, and a puppy, could be such mischievous imps?" George entered the room and broke the silence. He held a wriggling Kathy in his arms. Luke stood by his side with the tinsel garland around his neck, and Chase sat near him, his tongue rolling out in exhaustion.

"Wow! You look great, Hermione!" Ron said. Harry, Luna, and Neville nodded in approval.

"Good gracious, Hermione. Yer look more beautiful than a fairy, I tell yer!" Hagrid said.

"Yes, she looks very pretty in that dress!" Fleur reluctantly agreed.

"Thank- you!" Hermione replied, feeling her cheeks heating up.

"Such a beautiful daughter you have, Jenny!" Molly Weasley said, turning to Mrs. Granger.

"I'm proud of her!" returned Mr. Granger.

"Now, will you all stop embarrassing the girl?" Ginny asked, laughing.

"Yes. Yes. Let's go outside; dinner is waiting and so is our dear Hermione's cake!" Molly informed them warmly.

Hermione mouthed a silent 'thank-you' to Ginny.

As they walked to the garden, somebody else Apparated at the Burrow: Lavender Brown.

"Good evening, everyone! I hope I'm not late! Happy Birthday, Hermione!" Lavender said, walking to Hermione and handing a present to her.

"Oh thank you, Lavender!" replied Hermione in a falsely cheery tone. She glanced at Ron. She was not the only one to do so; the others were all looking at him a little frowningly. Ron stared at the ground, shuffling his feet.

"You people were expecting me, weren't you?" Lavender asked, wondering why everybody looked so wary.

"Of course we were, Lavender! Come, let's sit." Molly Weasley entreated. "Get another chair from inside, Arthur!" she whispered to her husband.

Other than this unexpected arrival, the evening unfolded smoothly. Everybody complimented Molly upon her excellent cooking skills. They had multiple toasts to Hermione's health and sang birthday songs for her. Near the end of the celebration, everyone felt quite tipsy. Hermione's heart overflowed with gratitude and love. She adored Ron's family, and she held all those gathered there dear.

Ron pushed his chair back and got up. He banged his half-emptied glass of mead on the table. "Listen to me, everyone. Listen to me. I have something to say!"

"What is it, Ron?" George enquired.

"I have something to say to Hermione," he replied. Ron drained the remaining mead. Hermione's heart was beating so fast by now that she gripped the edge of the chair and sat very rigidly. She had an idea of what Ron might say, but sincerely hoped he would not and would instead see the distress in her eyes.

"Her-mione, I will g-get straight to the p-point!" hiccupped Ron. Molly and Arthur Weasley were smiling brightly now and so were Hermione's parents. The rest seemed genuinely puzzled about what Ron was going to say.

"Hermione," he said from across the table, "marry me!" The table erupted in an uproar of cheers, claps, and congratulatory messages. Hagrid got up from his enormous chair and crushed Ron in a big hug. Only Lavender seemed somewhat crestfallen.

"Silence, silence everyone!" Ginny requested. "We haven't heard Hermione's answer yet!"

Feeling all eyes turning to her, Hermione stood up. "Thank you everyone for this wonderful, wonderful time. I will always remember it. I can't say how very touched I am. You are all so very important to me. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley—I mean Molly, for the dinner, and thank you all for the great presents!" Hermione said, her eyes sparkling with grateful tears. Everybody clapped and cheered again.

Hermione walked to the other side of the table and touched Ron's elbow. "Ron, can we talk for a moment in private, please?" she whispered.

"Hermione, I want to know your answer!" Ron said a little too loudly.

The table went silent.

"Oh go on, Ron!" Molly Weasley urged a short moment later.

"Excuse us, we'll be back soon!" promised Hermione. She walked inside with Ron, keeping a hand at his elbow to prevent him from stumbling on the stairs. Ron brushed her hand away, disgruntled.

They walked to Ginny's room, and Hermione closed the door.

"What is this, Hermione?" asked Ron, irritated. "Couldn't you give me an answer back there?"

"Why did you do that, Ron? I told you I'm not ready for marriage yet, you know I-"

"Why the hell are you not ready? Why is it taking you so much time?" Ron asked, adding an expletive after his question. "Look at Fleur, she married Bill when she was about twenty two years of age! Angelina and-"

"Ron, just because Fleur was ready to get married at that age, it doesn't mean that I'll be ready! I told you two weeks before that as long as-"

"I'm fed up with your excuses, Hermione! I have enough of waiting! Either you say you are going to marry me or get the hell out of my life! I want an answer now!"

"Ron, don't be so childish, giving me an ultimatum won't-"

"I SAID I WANT AN ANSWER NOW, HERMIONE!" bellowed Ron.

"Stop shouting, Ron, they will hear us downstairs!" a distressed Hermione urged. She drew out her wand from one of the drawers and pointed it at the door.

"Muffliato," whispered Hermione.

"Listen to me, please," beseeched Hermione. "I need time. Besides, we've been having fights several times these past months. The last one was only two weeks back. We cannot get married if we don't solve all this strain between us."

"Another pathetic excuse again! Lavender is so much better than you, Hermione!"

"What do you mean, Ron?" Hermione asked, frowning deeply, trying to hide her hurt.

"You heard right! Lavender is way better than you! She isn't a know-it-all who is always trying to show that she is more intelligent than her boyfriend in front of everyone else!" Ron continued ruthlessly.

"Ron! That isn't fair at all! I've never, never tried to-" Hermione started to say, tears freely falling from her eyes now.

"I won't feel sorry for you, Hermione! You think you are so above everyone else when in fact you're just a Mud-" Ron abruptly broke off.

"Finish that sentence, Ron!" Hermione said sternly. She angrily wiped at her tears. "I asked you to finish that sentence!"

For the first time since they had come into the room, Ron looked worried and utterly abashed. The effect of the mead he had been drinking evaporated at once.

"I—I didn't mean that. I'm—I'm truly sorry, Hermione. It's your birthday and—"

"It is only now you remember it is my birthday, after having said these hurtful words?" Hermione asked shrilly. "Couldn't you remember that before behaving in this foul way?" she reproached in a lower tone, feeling utterly drained.

"I should have—I—you are right, Hermione. Things aren't going all that well between us. I've hurt you." Ron paused. "I think it is better if we give each other some breathing space for a little while," suggested Ron half-heartedly.

"You might be right," Hermione slowly acknowledged, seating herself on the edge of the bed and burying her face in her hands.

Ron had not expected her ready acceptance of his suggestion. "I-I got this for you." He placed the small velvet box he had received from _The Passion Serpent_ on Ginny's table.

"Er…should I explain to the others that you are tired and have gone to bed?" Ron asked.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione said quietly, without looking up.

"Er…Everybody will be staying the night, as planned. Some of us will be camping in the garden. Only Hagrid and Lavender will be going back. Hagrid has to go to Hogwarts. And about Lavender, I invited her after our fight two weeks ago. It was in a fit of anger. Um…I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you." Ron said, attempting to engage Hermione into a conversation. Seeing that she was not paying him any attention, he walked out of the room still feeling deeply ashamed of what he had very nearly called her.

…**.**

As soon as Ron had closed the door, Hermione uncovered her face and reclined back on the bed. She stretched out her hand for a pillow and brought it close to her heart. After that beautiful evening, the short altercation with Ron made her feel quite vulnerable. The words he had thrown at her face were hurting her. But, strangely, only the words hurt - not the fact that she and Ron had temporarily split up. Their separation filled her with something oddly like relief; she couldn't be sure, though. It felt as if a stone pressed onto her heart. She did not want to examine her feelings. She just wanted to drift away.

"But I can't!" Hermione thought, bolting upright in the bed. The black cloud hovering over her disintegrated. She glanced at her watch. It was twenty-five minutes to eleven. The stone temporarily freed her heart. Indeed, Hermione was born at exactly twenty minutes to eleven at night! "Only five minutes left," she thought, "what will he send tonight?" Hermione jumped from the bed and started to-ing and fro-ing across the room. She spotted the little black box Ron had left on the table. She placed it in her handbag; she would look at it later.

She was not normally impatient, but she was now glancing at her watch at unreasonably short intervals. "This has to be the longest five minutes I've ever experienced!" she murmured to herself. As the first three minutes slowly stretched by, her enthusiasm started ebbing away. "Why am I so excited over this mysterious individual who waits for my birth time to send me flowers!" she wondered.

"It is as if he waits after everyone else has given me presents and wished me happy birthday! That makes no sense! Does he think his flowers unimportant? Is that why he sends them last, or does he think they _are_ important because he always sends them on my birth time?" Hermione muttered to herself. "Why doesn't he ever reveal who he is? I've had enough of it! I'll try to send him a message back and ask him about his identity!"

Just then, Hermione heard pecking sounds on her window. She couldn't stop the bubble of sheer joy that burst inside of her on seeing the two familiar parrots flapping their wings outside. Kiki and Bobo! Kiki was a female macaw, and she had bright yellow and blue feathers with a band of red on her head. Bobo was a blue-eyed male cockatoo. He had white plumage and a bright orange crest. They were both magnificent.

Hermione rushed to open the window. Kiki and Bobo flew in. Each held the handles of a flax bag, which contained beautiful flowers, in their strong curved beaks. They deposited the bag in Hermione's outstretched hands.

"Crazy gal talkin to herself, crazy gal talkin to herself!" Kiki cried as soon as her beak was freed. She flew onto the bed and started pecking at her feathers.

"Aww, dear Kiki, I'm not! I was just wondering why you both were taking so much time!"Hermione giggled.

Bobo, too, flew onto the bed. He stretched his white wings and bobbing his head eagerly, started singing. "Happy birthday to oo, happy birthday to oo, happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to oo!"

"Wow! That was amazing! Thank you so much, my sweet Bobo!" Hermione laughed, clapping her hands. "Thank you for not saying I'm crazy!" she joked, moved and overjoyed on beholding the two birds who had always visited her on her birthday for six years now. Hermione fetched a packet of bird seeds. She put Kiki's food in a small plate. Kiki, unlike Bobo, didn't like eating from her hands. Bobo was always very affectionate, but Kiki did not like to be touched.

"Bobo," said Hermione as she fed the cockatoo, "can you tell me you master's name? Who is the marvellous person who sends you?"

"Noo, noo, noo!" came the shrill warning from Kiki. "Noo, noo!"

"Oh Kiki, can you at least tell me from where you have come from?"

"Kat…Kat…Katmandooo," answered Bobo, bobbing his head. Kiki moved next to Bobo and nipped at Bobo's wings disapprovingly. Bobo just went closer to Kiki and affectionately brought his head next to Kiki's. The macaw gruffly moved away.

"So your master is so far away, in Kathmandu…" Hermione reflected slowly.

Kiki suddenly deployed her bright wings and flew out of the window. Bobo seemed more reluctant to follow suit but, gently pecking at Hermione's hand, he too flew away!

"Wait, wait!" cried Hermione after them. "Tell your master I said thank-you!" she shouted.

It was a pity she could not extract any information from them! Such intelligent birds! Hermione's disappointment faded as her eyes fell onto the flowers. Instead, a radiant smile lit her face. The mysterious sender always sent her flowers. They had not been chosen at random, though. The flowers, she had discovered, always contained meanings. They were also a means through which he conveyed secret messages to her.

Six years ago, he had sent her Witch-hazels and Forget-me-nots. The first signifies 'spell' and the second stands for 'true love.' Then, on her nineteenth birthday, he sent her Gardenias and Viscarias; the one represents secret love, and the other encloses the request 'will you dance with me?'

On her twentieth birthday, she received Sacred Daturas – it was a way to tell her he had dreamt about her – and Primroses, which bear the confession 'I cannot live without you.' The following year, she received Red Tulips and Coral Honeysuckle. The combined message conveyed by those two flowers is: 'trust me, I love you.' A year ago, on her twenty-second birthday, she received Globe Amaranths, which profess unfading love, and Peach Blossoms, which aver 'I am your captive.'

This year, Kiki and Bobo had brought her a beautiful bunch of Claret Roses. They symbolize deep love. In their midst, she found a single Spider Flower. A thrill ran down Hermione's spine. This particular flower holds a very romantic plea: 'elope with me…'


	10. Chapter 9:The Mahavira Hill in Kathmandu

**Chapter 9:**** The Mahavira Hill in Kathmandu**

_How do I love,_

_When hundred years on Earth seem like but two days?_

_How do I open my heart,_

_When after two days, we'll separate?_

_It is not enough_

_Give me half a century to whisper tender things in her ears_

_Another hundred years to share a kiss with her_

_Give me another hundred years to hug her tight_

_Another hundred years to make love to her_

_Then, we'll have a compromise; a seven-day week_

_Only then will I let Kama's arrow pierce my heart_

_And only then will I not mind the blood that will leak…_

Kathmandu, Nepal

The dying rays of the sun kissed the beautiful pink-marble temple built atop Mahavira Hill. It was known as the Nataraja temple as it housed a bronze statue of the deity Nataraja, the Lord of Dance. The temple had a wide ten-pillared hall. Doors and windows were notably absent from its beautiful architecture. The wind playfully teased the numerous bells hanging from the dome ceiling. A troop of monkeys, having stolen fruit offerings consisting of bananas, coconuts, apples and oranges, was noisily gamboling in the yard. Soon, they would be making their way back to their cosily-nestled sleeping quarters in the branches of trees of the Mahavira Forest. Their pleasures were simple.

Ladon, drenched in sweat, sat down against a pillar of the temple. He sported white jeans, and a beige kurta open till the waist. The loose article of clothing flapped in the wind and hid little of his well-toned chest. There was a black G-clef pendant, which he rarely ever took off, around his neck.

Ladon rolled up the sleeves of his kurta, revealing a Japa mala made up of 108 ivory-coloured small beads - a number held sacred in Hinduism and Buddhism alike – wrapped around his wrist and stretching till the middle of his forearm. He then opened a can of beer and took a sip of the chilled drink. He had not had to use Muggle money to buy the drink. Indeed, as the Indra Jatra festival was currently being celebrated in Kathmandu, beer sprouted freely from Bhairava masks, and it was being liberally distributed in the streets.

Ladon closed his eyes as he listened to the soothing burbles and gurgles of the Bhote Koshi River lazily flowing by the side of the deserted shrine.

He had sent Kiki and Bobo on a secret expedition many hours ago. The parrots had had to drink a special potion before launching themselves on a long trip to England.

Today was her birthday, and she had to receive the flowers…Would she like them? How was she? Was she happy? She had to be. She was brilliant at her work. She had a loving family. She was in love with someone… Damn that guy. Was she being as deeply cherished as she - the compassionate, clever, and lovely Hermione Granger - deserved?

Ladon's mind called upon him to concentrate on other more urgent matters. His heart, however, protested.

He had constantly fought against his feelings for her, but their intensity had not diminished with the bittersweet passing of time; where she was concerned, the grains of sand in the hourglass had not only stilled, but had piled up to the bursting point. Yes, he had tried letting go of his feelings, tearing them from out of his heart and placing them in the palm of his hand. Like a scarf made up of rainbow pigments, he had let them slither over a little distance, caressed and lured by the whispery breeze; but he had ended up mercilessly pulling them back to him.

Letting go was beyond him.

The air around him seemed to adorn shimmery colours whenever he thought about her. It pulsed with something so incredibly fine and untamed he longed to close his fingers around it. His heart beat with a strange piercing rhythm; it writhed with an emotion so deep and yet so subtle – like the hushed, melancholic cry of a violin. He could not really understand the "whys" of things; he just went on feeling…

Oh, enough of introspection!

Sighing, Ladon finished the beer. He then grabbed the hilt of the sword that lay by his side and unsheathed it. The pause was over. On to some action! He stood to his feet and at once resumed his sword practice.

…

Dusk had fallen. Hiding the dagger behind her, she slowly walked towards the temple, making sure to remain in the shadows. She kept a hand on the wand in her pocket just in case she needed to retrieve it rapidly. She could see the tall man with the shoulder-length blond hair practicing alone. His lean body moved with a maddening feline grace. It was sheer delight watching his strong muscles flexing and contracting underneath the kurta as he skillfully swung a heavy sword about, ruthlessly slashing at the air. The atmosphere around him rippled with electricity.

She was very near now. His back was turned to her. Perfect. She would succeed this time. She raised the dagger to strike. All of a sudden, her world toppled upside down, and a pain shot up her back. She felt thoroughly disoriented, her eyes blinking in confusion, as she found herself lying on the floor, the sharp tip of a sword held perilously close to the vein in her neck. It was his intense silver grey eyes that speared through her, though.

Ladon Hydras was a strikingly handsome man.

"Claire, I should have known— the typical uninventive advance, the weak attack, and the mockery of a defense," he observed, pulling her up.

"Your back was turned! How did you manage to surprise me?" Claire asked wonderingly.

"Reflections, Claire. It's a full moon night, and you are walking around with a silver dagger. You were as unobtrusive as an elephant; _I_ allowed you to come near," he returned. Ladon took the ruby-encrusted dagger from Claire and started inspecting it.

"Where's your ring?" Claire enquired, noticing the bare, thin band of paler skin on his ring finger.

"None of your business, Claire," Ladon answered as he handed the dagger back to her. "Why are you here?"

"I missed you, Ladon! I haven't forgotten our night together, in the haystack," she drawled languidly. "Do you remember?" she asked in a whisper.

He came very close to her; one of his eyebrows lifted a fraction as he peered deep into her eyes. She shivered as she beheld those grey eyes with the queer splashes of dark blue. Behind the fringe reaching the top of his eyebrows was a long crimson tikka that contrasted marvellously with his dark blond hair and light-coloured clothes. The tikka was a mark men in that region of the world wore during prayer sessions. It was applied with the thumb, in the middle of the forehead, in a single upward stroke.

"I know you are an amazing Legilimens, Ladon, but don't tell me you need the help of Legilimency to remember what happened only a year ago! That's insulting!" Claire rebuked slightly, pouting.

"What's insulting is your thinking _I'd_ use Legilimency on an unworthy subject such as you," Ladon said, the shadow of a smile on his sinful lips.

"Oh Ladon, don't pretend you don't like me! Tell the truth, you still remember, don't you?" Claire caught one of his wrists.

"My mind does not dwell on such forgettable matters," he answered, turning away from her. His sword cut through the air and extinguished a whole range of the small oil lamps lit on one side of the temple.

"You are lying! It was the best time of my life! How can it be unimportant to you?" Claire shrieked angrily. "I can't get you out of my head, however hard I try!" He paid her no attention, but continued wielding the sword with breathtaking skill.

"Listen to me!" she cried out impatiently.

"Claire, I told you then and I am telling you now, it was a one night thing, nothing more. Forget about it," he answered coldly, still ignoring her. Watching him handling the sword with so much ease and proficiency, Claire almost forgot what she was about to say.

"You- You bloody hypocrite! How can you write that column 'Insight into the fascinating minds of witches' and then—and then treat me like this!"

Annoyed with her shrewish behaviour, Ladon placed the sword back at Claire's neck in a swift, dexterous move.

"Let me make this very clear, Claire," he said in a dangerous tone. "I told you, before I even touched you, that what would happen between us was going to be a mere satiation of our mutual desires, sex with no strings attached. You agreed. End of story."

Dark waves of anger emanated from him. Claire swallowed.

"Now go from here," he ordered, lowering the sword.

"Hey, I don't remember you ever being so serious! I was joking!" Claire broke into peals of laughter. Ladon eyed her with a steely glint in his eyes.

"You better be, Claire. You don't deserve to go through a heartbreak—if that dramatic display contained an ounce of truth—for someone like me."

"You don't have a heart, do you, Ladon?"

"Maybe not," he said as he continued to hone his sword fighting techniques.

"Don't you want to know the real reason I'm here, then?" Claire enquired.

"I am not in the least curious now," he replied drily.

"Well, I'll tell you anyway. I wanted to know if you could reveal some of the things that are gonna show up in tomorrow's issue of _The Passion Serpent_!"

"Do you think I'm going to reveal this to a woman who works for _Gossip Weekly_?" he stated with a hint of disdain.

"No other magazine or newspaper can compete with you, Ladon! It won't hurt if you could-"

"No."

"Okay, would you at least agree for an interview with—"

"No."

"Fine! Perhaps you could tell me who the girl you sent flowers to today is?" she asked, hoping to capture the whole of his attention.

"You've been spying on me these last few days, haven't you?" he stated, unaffected.

"How did you know? And why doesn't it seem to surprise you?" she reproached, not understanding the amusement in his voice.

"I told you, you are as unobtrusive as an elephant. You never fail to leave trails behind. Anyway, I saw you hiding behind that plum tree half an hour ago," Ladon laughed.

"Ohhh," muttered Claire, embarrassed.

"You are a witch, and yet, no good at concealment. You should use that brain from time to time, Claire."

He turned to face her and without uttering a word, promptly took out his wand and summoned Claire's wand to him, effectively disarming her.

"Now, should I transfigure you into a plum?" he asked teasingly.

"Only if you promise to eat me afterwards, darling…" Claire replied back sultrily.

"That is an option, but I'm not very hungry at the moment. The monkeys would appreciate you better," he countered.

Angry, Claire tried to throw herself at him, but missed as he effortlessly dodged out of her way. She once again fell down in an unflattering manner. Someone else would have laughed; Ladon didn't. He quietly extended a hand to her, his mesmerizing eyes glittering darkly. Claire could not help the thrill of expectation that zinged through her.


	11. Chapter 10:The Seven Wonders

**Chapter 10:**** The Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World**

Harry Potter woke up, lightly rubbing his eyes and reaching for his glasses. He had not slept very comfortably in the camping tent that had been set up in the garden. The women occupied all the rooms in the Burrow, and the men had spent the night outside. His head still felt a bit heavy, having had a drink too much the night before. He had had a legitimate reason to celebrate, though, for it had been the occasion of Hermione's birthday. Glancing at his watch, Harry noticed that it was nearly seven am. He got dressed and walked out of the tent.

The morning was still very drowsy. The sun's warm rays fell onto the leaves of trees. A bird was whistling happily, entreating his other friends to wake up and join him in greeting a new, fresh day.

Shielding his eyes against a shaft of sunlight, Harry peered at the horizon. Something was steadily approaching and, queerly, it had the shape of a small airplane. As it came nearer, Harry noticed that it was not _one_ object but a formation of dark red scrolls. At once, Harry felt a thrill of excitement shoot down his back. As the dark red airplane reached the Burrow, it gracefully disintegrated, and the scrolls whizzed in different directions to find the various subscribers.

One scroll arrowed in his direction, and Harry stood cross-eyed behind his spectacles as he tried to focus on the zooming missive. It moved faster than a Snitch, stopping just inches from his nose. It then slowly back-tracked another few inches away and swiftly unrolled itself. Harry tried catching it, but had to quickly retrieve his outstretched hand as the scroll burst into flames. Incredibly, a dragon, the size of a beer barrel, made entirely of limpid flames, materialized in the wake of the scroll. It opened its mouth, and as it started to speak, its flames, which were initially crimson, successively draped the tint of the seven rainbow colours.

"_The Passion Serpent_ for you, sir. We wish you a pleasant reading. Adieu and goodbye," the dragon said in a deep, remarkable voice. It instantly vanished after having handed the magazine to a dazzled Harry.

"Wow, I'm thankful those flames were harmless!" George confessed as he came out of his tent. "Ladon Hydras sure has style! Last year it was a pair of fighting swords, this year, a talking dragon that changes colour! He would have done great at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," George confided to Harry.

Harry nodded, he too thoroughly impressed. Harry walked inside the Burrow and sat down on a sofa, greedily perusing the fascinating magazine. A short time later, everybody had woken up. They were all currently lost in their own readings. Molly Weasley was the only one who did not have a subscription to the magazine. "That editor is too adventurous for my taste," she had complained. "You all here should not be liking this magazine so much; the editor won't survive long with all those dare-devil undertakings of his!" she had warned as she served breakfast.

"Mum! Touch wood, you shouldn't be saying such things!" Ginny had reproached.

"What? It's only the truth, Ginny," Molly Weasley had remarked. "Oh, Hermione hasn't come down yet. That's good, she must be tired, let her sleep some more," she had reflected. Just then, Ron had come in and wished his mother good morning.

Impervious to the little frown with which Molly Weasley had surveyed him, Ron had dragged himself over to where Harry sat. Ron's copy of _The Passion Serpent_ was still unopened.

"I need someone to talk to, Harry," Ron had said uneasily. "Harry, I'm talking to you!"

"Oh. Go on, Ron. I'm listening," Harry had answered, still not looking at Ron.

"Hermione and I had another fight last night," Ron started in a dejected voice, twitching his hands in his lap. "I don't think she'll ever forgive me. I- I love her, Harry, but—but I nearly called her by that disgusting word, Harry. I said—I told her she was a –a—HARRY, YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!" Ron had complained loudly.

"Ohhh, sorry Ron, you should really be reading this. You won't believe what's written in here!" Harry had said in a dumbstruck tone, clearly eager to return to his reading.

…...

_Three hours later_

The Conference Hall with its queer, wing-backed seats was located on Level One of the Ministry of Magic, the same level where the office of the Minister for Magic was found. At present, it swarmed with wizards and witches from various departments.

"Whatever are those wings for?" Hermione heard Ron muttering to Harry. She resisted the urge to inform both of them that if they had paid attention to their Hogwarts books, they would have known the funny story behind the chairs being fitted with wings. If she had not been wary of being accused of being a know-it-all again, Hermione would have told them that half a century ago, a very fat witch used to repeatedly fall to the ground since the chairs she sat on would inevitably collapse beneath her weight. The wings were not there to allow the chairs to fly away in case the fat witch were to approach them, but were simply a smooth adjustment mechanism that magically enhanced the sitter's experience and, of course, prevented the chairs from breaking.

Curiously, no one else talked to each other as they gained their seats, waiting for the conference to start in a quarter of an hour. Instead, they were all absorbed in rereading the issue of _The Passion Serpent_ they had received early in the morning. The magazine had created hullabaloo once again.

Many wizarding families with members working for the Ministry such the Weasleys, the Patils, the Browns, the Changs, the Edgecombes, the Vanes, the Zabinis, the Parkinsons, the Bulstrodes, the Greengrasses, amongst others, were present at this urgent convocation by the Minister for Magic. On a raised platform situated in the front of the hall, the heads of the various magical departments and offices were seated at a table. The velvet high-backed chair in the middle, reserved for the Minister for Magic himself, had not been filled yet. Arthur Weasley, who had been promoted to head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, had temporarily closed his own copy of the magazine and was conversing in low tones with Madam Edgecombe, head of the Floo Network Authority.

Molly Weasley, too, had closed her magazine and surveyed her husband with a deepening frown. Close to her sat Ron with the rest of the Weasleys, and at the far end of the same row of chairs Ginny sat next to Hermione. Even if Ron had lied that Hermione had gone to bed tired last night and thus could not come down to carry on with the birthday celebrations, everybody had guessed that things were not going quite that well between the former best friends.

"Do you think they've summoned us because of what appeared in _The Passion Serpent_?" Ginny asked anxiously.

"I think so, Ginny. This matter is very serious. I suppose the Ministry will want to contact Ladon Hydras," Hermione shared in an equally grave manner.

"I would never have thought the grisly murder of those five Muggle students and their professor could be related to what Ladon has exposed," Ginny avowed.

"Neither have I." Hermione shivered slightly; someone walked over her grave, she thought. "We don't know what happened to the professor, Ginny. His body has not been found. It is only known that he is a wizard. If what Ladon affirms proves to be true, the wizarding world will have to confront yet another terrifying evil."

"It's true that every witch or wizard has heard about the Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World at one point in her or his life, mostly when we were still kids! That story is in wizard children's storybooks! You would never think the Seven Wonders were real!" Ginny said.

"You are right, Ginny. It was never mentioned in any of the Hogwarts textbooks. Believe me, I am sure I would have remembered something like that. But we still don't know whether they do exist or whether Ladon Hydras might have made a rare mistake. I don't think he'll ever write things like that just to create sensationalism," Hermione affirmed.

"Don't tell me you've read Mum's copy of _Gossip Weekly_, Hermione!" Ginny reflected shrewdly.

Hermione's cheeks flushed with colour. "Of course not! No, I— Well okay, I did read the bit about Ladon," Hermione was obliged to confess as Ginny glared at her accusingly.

"Well, I shouldn't be acting that outraged! I, too, read it, noticing the featured article on Ladon. I had hoped to see a picture of him, but it was only filled with that silly woman Claire's ramblings! She just bragged about how she had once dated Ladon and how he was a 'notorious playboy affected with severe memory problems, who does, says, and writes things to have witches fall into bed with him and then forgets their names the next morning'," Ginny quoted.

"True, she does sound like a woman scorned, and she is clearly abusing her position as a journalist to settle a personal score with Ladon Hydras. I don't think this will affect Ladon's reputation, though. Only jealous females might be swayed into doubting his writings because of the mud slinging in _Gossip Weekly_."

"You were one of those jealous females, weren't you?" Ginny exclaimed, grinning.

"No! Don't rave, Ginny. Ladon Hydras might be a fifty year-old man for all we know!" Hermione was quick to respond. "It is what I think that Claire girl has wanted to do. It is clear that she was trying to make readers of _The Passion Serpent_ doubt what was going to appear in the current issue, desperate to find a way to discredit him."

"Ladon has proven himself in this field, Hermione. Few people will really be swayed by an article in _Gossip Weekly_. All kinds of wizarding expeditions are regularly organised on the basis of what he reports, and they are all successful - granted that this bit of reporting in one of the seven sections of _The Passion Serpent_, 'News you should all be concerned about', is a tad bit more extraordinary than his other amazing articles." Ginny paused before continuing. "If Voldemort had believed a story out of a wizard child's storybook, he might have gone after the Seven Wonders!" she stated grimly.

"He might indeed have. Although we don't know who is really after the Seven Wonders - if these exist for real, and if there is truly a link of the kind Ladon wants to establish, that wizard might be no less dangerous than the vile Dark Lord," Hermione observed.

"Oh, let's talk about something else!" Ginny interjected, repressing a small shiver. "Hermione, I know I shouldn't be interfering, but I heard my silly brother shouting last night, did you guys fight again?" Ginny enquired.

"Yes, Ginny. Ron and I have agreed to give each other some breathing space. I think it's better this way," Hermione sighed.

"My brother is a fool! Inviting Lavender like that was-"

"We didn't fight because of Lavender, Ginny," Hermione interrupted. "I think we are both at fault if our relationship is sailing through rough seas. This has lasted for quite a while now, hurting both of us. It was time to put an end to this," Hermione stated.

"Put an end?" Ginny shouted, surprised, before quickly lowering her tone as a few eyes turned in their direction. "You just said you were merely giving each other some breathing space!"

"Yes, yes, Ginny, that's what I meant, but-"

"I'm so looking forward to having you as sister-in-law, Hermione!" Ginny confessed.

Hermione was on the point of answering but stopped as a shadow fell across them.

"Look who we have here, Millicent," Pansy Parkinson remarked contemptuously to the sniggering, stout woman next to her. "The Mudblood and the Weasels," Pansy continued in a low voice so that only Hermione and Ginny could hear what she said.

An incensed Ginny had started to retrieve her wand from her pocket, but Hermione stopped her.

"Get moving, Pansy, if you don't want to be jinxed to death," Hermione muttered, tight-lipped. The foul epithet which Pansy had attributed to her had brought back what Ron had nearly called her the night before. Was she never going to be rid of hearing herself called that way? Six years had passed since she had last heard herself addressed so disparagingly, and then that respite had been broken by Ron the previous evening, and now by the despicable Pansy Parkinson.

In the wizarding world, there was a saying along the lines that the wizard or witch who starts something must also be the one to put an end to it; otherwise, the matter will go round and round in a circle. The one who had first called her 'Mudblood' had disappeared. Well, she still secretly met him in a softly lit, abandoned tower, but it hardly counted! Wherever he was now, did he still think of her as having soiled blood? _He_ had started this whole name-calling; was it true that only he could put a stop to this, that then nobody else would dare call her that way again?

"See this?" Pansy flaunted the enormous diamond ring on her finger. "I'm engaged to Teddy Bagwell, of course you know he is one of the richest men in the whole of England; he is the head of the department you work for! You'll have to die and be reborn before Weasel King could get you something like this!" Pansy remarked before walking away, she and Millicent laughing uproariously.

"I have ALWAYS hated that cow!" Hermione exclaimed. "She is always horrid and conceited. Teddy Bagwell is a nice man. I wonder what he sees in that repulsive thing. Remember how she was always stuck to Malfoy back in Hogwarts?"

"Yes, she is disgusting. But it doesn't surprise me that Malfoy seemed to have liked her; they are both of the same ilk!" Ginny remarked carelessly. Hermione could not explain why Ginny's saying that Malfoy liked Pansy disturbed her. She remembered how she had hated seeing Pansy draped across Malfoy on more than one occasion – all those times when Gryffindor had had combined lessons with Slytherin, or the time when Malfoy had exaggerated his being injured by Buckbeak.

She vividly recalled how livid she had felt the time when she and Ron had been designated prefect, and they had had to regain the prefect carriage onboard Hogwarts Express. She had known that Malfoy would have been chosen as the Slytherin Prefect, but she somehow had not expected to feel the white-hot anger that besieged her when she discovered that Pansy was the girl chosen to act alongside Malfoy. It had not been jealousy, she had been sure; but she had also not known what it was!

"As happily engaged as Pansy seems, I can't think that she once seemed so very fond of Malfoy," Hermione shared gloomily.

"C'mon, Hermione, you can't be that old-fashioned! It's been six years, and there is still no news of that Slytherin brat! You can't expect that gold-digging cow, Pansy, to be withering away like the proverbial English Rose, waiting for Malfoy to make a shamefaced reappearance!" Ginny chided.

"He doesn't need to make a shamefaced reappearance, Ginny. You already know that he was being blackmailed by Voldemort to do all those things he did. It's not that-"

"Don't tell me you are taking the side of that despicable guy! He might have been blackmailed, but I think a part of him must have enjoyed doing those horrible things-"

"No, that can't be true! Only Voldemort was heartless enough to actually enjoy inflicting pain; Malfoy was merely a student trapped on the other side. He didn't even have a choice, Ginny." Hermione was not sure what was prompting her to defend him, but she felt strangely compelled to do so.

"Gosh, I can't believe my ears, Hermione! What's happening to you? First you break off with my brother, and then you start virtually extolling praises of Malfoy?" Ginny whispered fiercely.

"I'm not singing his praises! And my breaking off with your brother has nothing to do with Malfoy—"

"I never said it had anything to do with Malfoy," Ginny interrupted once again. "Why did you assume that?"

"This argument is going nowhere, Ginny. Let's just end this here," Hermione answered, cheeks heavily flushed. She had nearly betrayed herself. It was true Ginny had not accused her of breaking up with Ron because of Malfoy, but in Hermione's own mind, that haunting dream played a large part in it. Even if Ron had been the first to suggest they separate, she had promptly acquiesced, without feeling depressed over that decision. She had only felt bad over the way Ron had addressed her; their agreeing to part ways had instead flooded her with relief.

To distract her mind from those wandering thoughts, Hermione followed Ginny's example and started rereading the article that had caused such wild agitation in the wizarding world.

...

_**News You Should All Be Concerned About**_

_Last week I met an old drunkard wizard in a decrepit, badly lit tavern in Sarando, a hamlet found in Northern Egypt's outback countryside. His clothes were filthy and tattered, one of his hands was badly mangled, three of his front teeth were missing, and the rest of his Muggle companions were in about the same sorry state, minus the disfiguring injuries. My presence did not seem to perturb or ruffle them; it goes to show how much I can blend with them. I didn't even have to use Polyjuice Potion._

_Heads lowered conspiratorially and heavily callused hands clasping small glasses of locally-concocted liquor, they were discussing the recent flash flood that had destroyed their rice crops, and how their children had to sleep on empty stomachs. Quite unexpectedly – for someone who is not used to frequenting the said tavern, that is - the subject veered to wizards and magic. The Muggles did not seem in the least surprised when the drunkard wizard started telling them tales of ancient wizarding battles, or the one Quidditch match that he had seen when he was twenty years old. It is indeed characteristic of drunkards, Muggles and wizards alike, to recount the events that have marked their lives, over and over again, when they happen to be under the influence of alcohol. This bunch was no different. _

_First, let me say that it was not by accident that I found myself in that particular tavern. I had gone to the old wizard's village first, and his beautiful, shy daughter told me where I could find her father. Now, onto why I set out in search of that particular man._

_You must remember the murder of five British Muggles, who were archaeology students, which took place a week back in Egypt. The Egyptian Ministry of Magic was quick to pass off the murder as the work of a pack of starving hyenas. The Egyptian Minister for Magic has had personal conferences with the British Muggle Prime Minister as well as the British Minister for Magic concerning this ghastly episode. Muggle police and pathologists have had to be confounded as it would soon have become clear to them that no hyena could be capable of the unspeakable savagery inflicted on the bodies of the students. Nobody knows what happened to the wizard professor who had accompanied them._

_I made a trip to Egypt as soon as I learnt about the murders. The cave where the Muggle students were doing excavation works is located in a remote part of the Sahara, and it reeked with remains of ancient magic. In one part of the cave was an intricately carved black box which was, incidentally, no box but a device built in the earth itself. The lid of the 'box' was wide open and if you let yourself down the box, it gave on a huge underground cavern. A yet unidentified magical creature had been imprisoned there for centuries, quite possibly millennia, gone by. You must be wondering whether that creature might have killed the five students. It is possible, but you have to remember that the fate of the wizard professor is still not known. _

_Let's move on. I spoke with the Muggle nomads who had brought the students to this impressive, antediluvian cave. From them, I was able to learn about the legends that have passed down from one generation of this nomadic tribe to the next. One particular story is of interest to us. _

_This story is about how the elders of Haaraya village, who were called Wirous, had once imprisoned a ferocious creature underground. Haaraya village existed about 6000 years ago, where instead of the desert, lush grassland and abundant wildlife had thrived. With time, as the desert inexorably encroached on the grassland, the people of Haaraya immigrated to other places, more specifically, to Sarando. _

_The nomads believe this to be only a legend, but they recount how Merua cave was a place their grandparents always forbade them from ever visiting. Now, it is clear that this is not a mere story; it actually happened, and the creature has obtained its liberty at last. Of course, wizards were present in order for the Wirous to proceed with this dangerous undertaking. The nomads believe that the Wirous' Head Priest was, in fact, someone who was skilled in witchcraft. _

_This true tale becomes even more fascinating. The nomads were able to give me a name: Lydian. Lydian was another man adept at witchcraft, and he was, purportedly, the best friend of the Head Priest. For those in the wizarding world, the name Lydian is not unfamiliar. He lived six thousand years ago and he was the only wizard who could, being an exceptional Animagus, transform into a dragon. The nomads were also able to tell me that those two great wizards had come into possession of two unique, ancient manuscripts on one of their adventures. The manuscripts were none other than Papyro Ithicuses! Story from a wizard child's storybook? No. It is real; I have seen one._

_Travelling to Sarando, I learnt that one of the elders of the village was more revered than the rest. It turns out that person is the old drunkard wizard; he is a descendant of the Head Priest of the Wirous, and, hold your breath, he had a Papyro Ithicus in his possession! _

_I tried to find what happened to Lydian's identical manuscript; no luck there._

_As you already know – if you don't, pick up the story book of any wizard child and read, you are likely to find it very informative – the Papyro Ithicus is an ancient manuscript most of us think of as an old myth, a fabrication meant to entice imaginative minds. Only two manuscripts were ever made - by whom, it is not known. These two manuscripts indeed show the location of the other five Wonders of the magical world. The old wizard I met had tried, on countless occasions, to put his hands on the Wonders, but he has not been successful so far. He fiercely cherishes his manuscript and would not let me have more than a cursory glance at it. What I was able to see, I'm going to relate to you. Who knows, maybe some of you already have one of those Wonders by your side, but are unaware of it. _

_First, a few things need to be made clear. _

_The original Papyro Ithicus is a map; even if the Wonders have been removed from their original places, it shows you their exact location. You have to concentrate on the Wonder you want to locate, and its position will appear on the map. This is an exercise that must be done in pairs; two people need to concentrate on the one Wonder they want to locate for its position to be revealed by the Papyro. It must be noted that no copies can be made of the Papyro Ithicus. The only copies that you can make, and which I have included in this issue of The Passion Serpent for your perusal, are those that merely disclose the country in which the Wonders are located. Such copies do not reveal the exact location. It is only when you have the original Papyro Ithicus in your possession that you can go hunting for the Wonders; otherwise, it is the same as looking for a wand in a muddy lake where the Accio spell does not work. _

_Below is a brief description of the Seven Wonders, and further information about their location. A trip to the excellent Emerill Archeus Wizarding library in London will provide you with even more information. You must be wondering why I am revealing all this instead of going on a trek and discover all the Wonders for myself, but I have a purpose behind all these revelations. My aim is in fact to get more people to go looking for them. You all need to be warned that going on a hunt for the Wonders is no easy task; it is indeed a deadly one. Countless obstacles will be set in your way, and death is awaiting the one who is unable to cross even the very first. All those who value their lives, refrain – this is not for the faint-hearted, and it is not a joking matter. The greater the number of people setting out in search of the Wonders, the greater are the chances that the Wonders will fall into the hands of amateur wizards who will not know how to use the Wonders. Only very highly skilled wizards can get a Wonder to work. Those who are wise and capable of using it will not do so. Those who are unwise, dangerous, and who have a thirst for power and bloodshed will use it. _

_The grisly massacre in Egypt might not be a one-off occurrence. It could happen more frequently; everyone has to stay on their guard in the coming days. It is likely that the creature who had been imprisoned for about six millenia was aware that the Head Priest and Lydian had each a Papyro Ithicus in their possession. It is also very possible that the creature has somehow gotten hold of Lydian's manuscript. This creature has broken through extremely powerful magic that had been holding it captive; it will most certainly be able to activate a Wonder if it comes into its possession. If this happens, havoc will be wreaked in the world. The creature must at all cost be prevented from reuniting the Seven Wonders. This is the chief reason why I am revealing the existence of the Papyro Ithicus. _

_Remember, if you do decide to go and try to find the Wonders, you might cross paths with the ruthless creature after them. Beware._

_The old drunkard wizard I met in the tavern is not going to stay in Sarando for his own safety; he has already moved to another place. Forget about tracking him. _

_**The Seven Wonders of the wizarding world**_

_**1. Papyro Ithicus**_

_Description : There are only two of them. The Papyro itself is a Wonder. A Papyro Ithicus is a horizontal scroll of parchment which shows the location of five other Wonders. The seventh one is not shown on the map, you'll know why later. Careful; though it can be extremely difficult, a very powerful wizard can forge the location of one Wonder on the Papyro. However, when he does so, he'll have to replace the Wonder with another powerful object. He will also be compelled to leave a clue about the location of the Wonder if he forges its original location on the map. This forgery can only be done once. If someone comes into possession of all the Seven Wonders, the location of Terra Incognita will be revealed; it is said to be the place where the Seven Wonders need to be reunited._

_Effect : Ancient books and legends recount that the wizard who reunites the Wonders on Terra Incognita will be able to usurp the powers of any wizard, if he so chooses. He will be capable of evil of the worst kind. _

_Status : One Papyro Ithicus is in possession of the Wizard from Sarando; the location of the second one is unknown, but highly likely to be in the creature's possession._

_**2. Hermit Mystery**_

_Description : The Hermit Mystery is a coined-sized, flat emerald stone that was made by ancient wizards in Kathmandu. It originally adorned a Bhairava Mask. It has now been turned into a ring._

_Effect : The Hermit mystery has the power of instant healing. It, however, also makes you forget what pain is. Pain is what makes you human. If you cannot feel pain, you will not be human anymore; and you will be all the more dangerous._

_Status : It has been in my possession for a while now, but until I met the drunkard wizard, I was unaware of it being a Wonder. It has now been given to a very capable, intelligent, and lovely lady. Your map will inevitably show you where the ring currently is: England. If you are indeed planning to go looking for a Wonder, you can erase the Hermit Mystery from your list as it has already been found. _

_**3. Peruvian Sun**_

_Description : It is, as the name suggests, of the shape of a small sun. It adopts the bewildering spectrum of colours the sun itself manifests. You CANNOT touch the Peruvian Sun with your bare hands._

_Effect : The Peruvian Sun gives you mastery over foliage, forests, plants, and heat. If you have it in your possession, you will be able to master fire._

_Status : As your map will indicate, it is in Peru. To give you another clue - and something which your copy of the map will not show - the Peruvian Sun is reputed to be in a secluded, palace-sized Charnel house. Therefore, if you don't like waddling amidst smiling human skulls and heaps upon heaps of bones, do not go looking for it. Remember, extremely dangerous magic protect Charnel houses. Be careful of the Peruvian bone-eating Scarab Beetle. They are known to prefer the healthy bones of living humans rather than the dead._

_**4. Icarybus Crystal**_

_Description : It is an extremely fragile crystal ball said to have been made around 333 BC. The Icarybus Crystal casts aurorean lights in the chamber in which it is displayed, and it can only be held by a woman._

_Effect : Better than the Mirror of Erised, it truly shows you the future. However, more likely than not, if you succeed in making use of it, you will most probably not like to see the fate in reserve for you there. As I said before, wise souls will NOT be making use of any of these Wonders. The lethal danger they represent outweighs the delights they might bring you._

_Status : Its location, as shown by your map, points to Romania. Research further indicates that it is in some kind of cave. You have all learnt of the types of dark magic and mysterious creatures living below ground. Venture with caution._

_**5. The Cursed Violin**_

_Description : Accounts of it in ancient books describe it as being made of the dark red wood of the now extinct Euscakypta._

_Effect : The Cursed Violin can produce the most unimaginably beautiful music ever. Muggle children are familiar with the story of The Pied Piper of Hameln. This story also has many variations and in one such tale, the musician is not a piper but a violinist. In the Pied Piper story, the piper was able to rid the city of rats. The rodents became entranced by the music he made, and he thus lead them to the sea and drowned them. He was promised money for this enterprise, but the townspeople refused to pay him. Some time later he came back and instead of rats being lured by the music, he enticed children and forever disappeared with them. There might be some truth in this story. The Cursed Violin can entrance any human being. The one who hears the music becomes a slave of the one who plays the Violin. Tempting. _

_Status : The location indicates England. The price of touching this violin is a human life. With such a price, NO ONE should go looking for it. Still, it needs to be found before the creature who will not hesitate to kill yet another person in order to get such a Wonder._

_**6. The Lovers' Heart**_

_Description : This is a wonder for romantic folks. True to its name, it has the shape of a heart and it is ruby red, not dissimilar to the colour of a thoroughly kissed lady's lips. It is said that the Lovers' Heart was made by two lovers. This pair of lovers, a wizard and a witch of different castes, were not allowed to mingle. Their love was an abomination to their families. Do not take out your handkerchiefs yet; they did not have a tragic ending. Ancient Indic books relate that the lovers eloped and had their happily ever after. The lovers wanted to have a symbol representing the very strong love they felt for each other. They created the Lovers' Heart._

_Effect : This Wonder can create love, evidently much more potent than any love potion. Again, however, this will be something forced – an illusion. Love is born naturally, not created. It can give rise to destructive obsession. Nonetheless, the most important function of the Lovers' Heart is that it can reveal ancient lovers. Not ancient in age, but people who have been lovers in their past lives. It is a belief held by countless civilisations who believe in reincarnation, ancient and modern alike, that true love is very rare, but, those who do experience it have the same mate in each of their following lives. Their physical features might be different, but their souls are the same. The lovers thus belong to each other across ages, and even across death it seems. One can understand why the story of the Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World has been relegated to children's books; this story falls nothing short of being ludicrous, but it seems to be true. _

_Status : Located in Cambodia, as shown by the Papyro Ithicus._

_**7. Fire from the Arctic Willow**_

_Description : You must be thinking that anyone can obtain a few twigs of the Arctic Willow and light a fire. True, anyone can. But it will not be a Wonder. The pair of lovers indicated by the Lovers' Heart will have to light the fire. _

_Effect : The properties of this Wonder are very much unexplored._

_Status : Obviously, it is the only Wonder which is not shown on the Papyro Ithicus for twigs of the Arctic Willow are readily available. Not everyone comes across ancient lovers, though. _

_Will you find a Wonder?_

_As I said before, this is not a task for amateurs. Most of you will not be able to find any of them. Our old drunkard from Sarando, even though possessing a Papyro Ithicus, has wasted his entire youth in this mad quest._

_What do you do if you find a Wonder?_

_The wisest thing you can do is to lose no time in returning it to your respective Ministry of Magic. Not doing so will put you and your family in mortal peril. Do not forget that an unknown entity, who has not dithered to commit savage murder, is also after the Wonders._

_Nota Bene:_

_The makers of the Papyro Ithicuses are NOT the makers of the other five Wonders. Each Wonder has its own story. The makers merely gathered their location on a map. The makers were, of course, wise wizards; they knew better than trying to use the Wonders for their own ends. Whether it is mere coincidence that reuniting those seven magical objects can make you one of the most powerful wizard to have ever lived is not known. _

_I reiterate what I have said before; only go on such a search if you do not fear losing your lives, or endangering the lives of your loved ones. I do hope you live to read the next issue of The Passion Serpent. Until then, stay safe._

_Adieu and Goodbye,_

_Ladon Hydras_

...

Having read the incredible article for a third time, Hermione closed her magazine. She was wondering why Ladon always finished his articles with "Adieu and Goodbye". He surely knew that both words meant the same thing, only that 'adieu' was the French version of 'goodbye'. Queer idiosyncrasy.

The sound of many magazines being folded was very audible as Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic, entered the Conference Hall. Harry was by his side, and he had a special place at the table in the front. Everybody expected Harry to be promoted to the head of the Auror Department soon.

The Minister for Magic did not take his seat at the middle of table. Instead, he stood at the edge of the podium and started talking.

"Good morning, friends. You must all be wondering why your routines have been disrupted as well as the reason behind a conference being urgently called. I am sure you must all have an idea by now.

Last week, a ghastly incident took place in the Merua Cave found in Egypt. Five British Muggle students were brutally killed. I have seen their bodies. It is confirmed now that this horrific massacre has been done by either a dark wizard or an unknown creature. The five archaeology students were accompanied by a wizard Professor, Mr. Laurence Alcott, on their expedition. He is known for his keen interest in wizarding archaeology that relates to the Dark Arts, and he has taught not only in many wizarding schools, but also in Muggle universities. Mr. Alcott has not been found. Searches are continuing.

I am sorry to be announcing another rather grim piece of news. Another eminent wizard professor and his family have been killed in the course of the night in Bristol. These innocent people have been killed in the same modus operandi as the five Muggle students; that is, their heads were decapitated and each one of their limbs was ripped from their bodies.

As most of you read _The Passion Serpent_, you must be aware of the very serious claims advanced by Mr. Hydras, notably those relating to the Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World and a dark creature or wizard going after them. _The Passion Serpent_ is a magazine used by many ministries around the world and, so far, everything reported, including the conjectures of Mr. Hydras, have proven to be true.

Just a few minutes ago, I had a conference with the heads of the Ministries of Magic of a hundred and fifty three countries. We all agree to coordinate our efforts in losing no time in digging the truth in this matter. No one wants to see a repeat of the events of six years ago. A World Conference is going to take place as soon as next week and, naturally, Mr. Hydras will be requested to come and share all that he knows concerning this very serious matter.

I am going to issue a communiqué to the public as well as warn the Muggle Prime Minister of the need to be cautious. All those wizards who, after having read _The Passion Serpent_, are planning to go find the Wonders will need to be deterred. This is something only well-trained Aurors will be capable of undertaking. As you are aware, an International Magical Pass is now required before a wizard can Apparate in another country. As this pass is only granted to heads of Ministries of Magic, an influx of wizards will be travelling to other countries via the International Land Express, which will need to strengthen its security system.

I have decided to send our specially trained Aurors to find the Wonders. Mr. Hydras, who is of British origin, will have to reveal to whom he has given the Hermit Mystery so as the precious object could be kept in a safe place, under strict surveillance. We also hope he will agree to help us find the Wonders. Obviously, other countries will also be sending their own Aurors on this task. We agreed that it is imperative that our trained agents reach the Wonders before the creature, who has escaped a six thousand year long imprisonment, could get hold of them.

Moreover, not only Aurors will be involved in this enterprise. Brave people who have helped in the downfall of Voldemort will also be lending their help to the Ministry.

First of all, I have decided to send our very capable Miss Granger to find Mr. Ladon Hydras."

At this, the entire Conference Hall turned to look at Hermione enviously. Hermione was so astonished she was unable to acknowledge what the Minister had just announced. No one had ever seen what Ladon Hydras looked liked, and no one knew where the Passion Serpent Headquarter was found!

"Miss Granger, rumours have it that Mr. Hydras is in Cambodia. This piece of information has been conveyed to me by the Cambodian Minister for Magic himself. However, his precise location is not known. It will be your task to seek out Mr. Hydras and persuade him to attend the World Conference that will take place in seven days time. His purported location betrays that he might be looking for the Lovers' Heart; you can also assist him in finding that particular Wonder and bring the Wonder back to England. Are you agreeable to this, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Sir, I hope I will be able to accomplish this assigned task as best as I can," Hermione managed to answer. She pretended not to notice the way Romilda Vane, Padma Patil, Pansy, Milicent, and even Ginny were glaring at her. She could actually feel the curses being directed towards her by most of the females in the hall for having been given the task to find Ladon. She tried not to pay attention to them and started mentally counting the number of books she would need to read before setting out on this job. She would have to find a book on the geography of Cambodia, and many others on its wizarding history.

"I knew the Ministry could count on you, Miss Granger. You can now leave the Hall and meet me in my office in half an hour's time," Kingsley Shacklebolt delivered proudly.

As soon as Hermione started getting up from her seat, Lucius Malfoy strode up to the dais and addressed the Minister.

"My dear Minister, allow me to express my strong disapproval that this ...this girl here be given the task of persuading Mr. Hydras. She CANNOT be trusted with such an important-"

"Mr. Malfoy, I'm sorry to say you are not in a position to disagree. You are allowed in this conference hall only due to the influence you have had with former administrations. Miss Granger is one of the most capable and clever witches working for the Ministry. She can undoubtedly be trusted to properly carry out this task. However, I will allow you to voice out on which ground you think Miss Granger will not be able take this task to completion."

"Thank you, Minister. Mr. Ladon Hydras is obviously himself a powerful and clever wizard. The 'Lydian' he mentioned in his article is Lydian Hydras, the wizard from whom the Malfoys descend. Clearly, one of the Papyro Ithicus belonged to our family. I-"

"Now you'll claim that you are related to Ladon Hydras!" someone exclaimed from the back, and everybody broke out in peals of laughter.

A dark flush swept across Lucius Malfoy's face. The time when he enjoyed much influence with the Ministry was well gone.

"I am not claiming to be related to Mr. Ladon," Lucius Malfoy interjected. Kingsley Shacklebolt made small silencing motions with his hands and the laughter subsided into sniggers.

"I'm saying that I should be involved in this enterprise because the Papyro Ithicus belongs to the Malfoys. Also, Mr. Ladon must surely be a pure-blood; Miss Granger cannot—"

"Do you propose that your son be given this task, Lucius?" Arthur Weasley intervened. Again the audience started laughing. Hermione did not feel like laughing at all. Her heart was thumping painfully against her chest. That Lucius Malfoy should object to her being given this task could have been expected; but, the mention of his son was making her hot and cold and sweaty.

"The son he is so proud of has disappeared!" another person shouted from the back. Lucius Malfoy turned into an ugly shade of grey.

"Are you sure your worthless, pureblood son is not lying somewhere in Knockturn Alley?"

"Where are you, Draco?" Lucius Malfoy thought sadly.

"Silence please," urged Kingsley. "I'm afraid I have to interrupt you, Lucius. Mr. Ladon must be very well travelled and questions relating to types of blood must be irrelevant, if not preposterous, to him. You can regain your seat, Lucius, thank you for your input," the minister dismissed a scowling Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as she left the Conference Hall. She could hear the Minister for Magic continue allocating specific tasks to other witches and wizards. She had felt sorry for Lucius Malfoy back there even if the man had been voicing out his disapproval of her being assigned this task. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been looking for their son for years now, but they had so far been unsuccessful. Hermione recalled an article that had appeared in the Daily Prophet soon after Voldemort had been defeated. The article had expounded at length over how Lucius Malfoy was spotted scouting the length of Knockturn Alley, desperately inquiring about the whereabouts of his son and being fleeced out of thousands of Galleons by those who falsely claimed to know where Draco Malfoy was. Why didn't Draco Malfoy contact his own parents?


	12. Chapter 11: Unforeseen Encounter

**Chapter 11: Unforeseen Encounter in the Cambodian Jungles**

_Unforeseen Encounter in the Cambodian Jungles_

_**Say I managed to stop my eager steps in your direction,**_

_**How do I halt the wandering gaze that strays to your face?**_

_**And if I did conquer my wandering gaze,**_

_**How do I control this unruly heart that undyingly seeks you?**_

_**15 30**__** Dense Cambodian Jungle**_

She had never seen Draco dressed in jeans before! That was certainly not the first thought that came to Hermione's mind when fifteen minutes ago, she had stumbled on the tall, handsome, and dark deity with the wild blond hair. Well, not stumbled on, but she had heard, from afar, the sound of a deep, sexy male voice. Curious about hearing someone shouting instructions in English after having trudged for hours and hours in vain across the jungle, Hermione had quickly hidden herself behind a huge tree. As she spied from behind the tree to see to whom belonged the sexy male voice, to her utter astonishment, she saw Draco Malfoy!

Hermione had once attended a Muggle concert during the Christmas holidays when she was fifteen. She had been dragged there by her Muggle neighbour, Ella, who was the same age as she was. Ella had been obsessed by the lead singer of a famous boy band. Standing there amidst thousands of screaming fans, Hermione had watched with amazement as her Muggle friend nearly died with all the excitement of seeing her favourite idol in front of her, performing his stage antics. Whilst the music was good and she actually had fun at the concert, Hermione had been unable to understand how it felt to 'love' and idolise someone that much. Nevertheless, on seeing Draco Malfoy in front of her after so many years, she thought her heart was beating as frantically as that of an obsessed fan.

But why? There was no reason for her heart to behave as if she had finally found a long lost mate! The twisting and poking she had been feeling in there had as if been suddenly magnified tenfold. It was only due to shock, she tried to convince herself; shock from seeing him after six years. Draco Malfoy was her bitterest enemy; they hated each other. Maybe the eerie dreams she had been having had mollified her feelings towards him? Those reflections could wait, though.

The Komodo Eiferatu was coming nearer and nearer. Hermione could not budge from where she was; the huge Strangler Fig tree blocked her way. The wand she was holding was shaking so much with dread that it would have been comical in another less serious situation. She had read about Komodo Eiferatus in _Cambodia's Magical Creatures _by Agrippa Thompson. The Komodo Eiferatu was a giant version of the Komodo dragon known to Muggles. Komodo Eiferatus were reputed to be amongst the most vicious creatures in Cambodia; their breaths were venomous, and they were known to corner Muggles and wizards alike for dinner. This one was relentlessly advancing towards her. Its massive size did not seem to slow its hungry gait. It was about two metres in length, and its tail was almost as long as its body. Blood tinged saliva dropped from its jaws; its forked tongue was dark brown in colour and hissed at the air menacingly.

_Be damned, Ladon Hydras!_ Hermione thought. Her journey to Cambodia via the International Land Express had lasted three hours. Wizards could no longer freely Apparate to other countries. The International Wizarding Convention on Apparition that had taken place five years ago had decided that a system of International Magical Pass should be devised in order to control who crossed country borders. Dark wizards and mischief mongers had been making it a habit to Apparate in other countries to escape Aurors and punishment. It had taken Hermione another two days and a half to find where Ladon Hydras was believed to be. A surprisingly large number of people fiercely refused to give her any information even though they seemed not unfamiliar with Ladon's whereabouts. She had just had to follow her own instincts and seize on the unwary hints dropped by people of whom she inquired information.

Threading a way, unaccompanied, through the jungles of Cambodia was no easy feat. She had had to put a leech-repelling charm on her clothes; the jungle was filled with those blood sucking creatures! She thought she had fared fairly well until her instincts first led her to make a wrong decision about a short cut, causing her to fall into a muddy swamp. Never mind her whole body and clothes being covered in mud, nor her boots being temporarily stuck in the swamp; her fall must have disturbed the Komodo Eiferatu which had been dozing on the banks of the swamp, shielded from view by the dense undergrowth! She had quickly run away, but it now seemed as if the creature had followed her scent!

"Stay calm, stay calm," Hermione told herself breathlessly. "You've faced so many things before; there is no need to panic! So what if the book said only an angel dropped from the skies can save you from the Komodo Eiferatu? And the Conjunctivitis Curse will not work on it! No spells can work on it because of its very hard, scaly exterior! Merlin! You are a clever witch, Hermione Granger; you can find a way out of this situation. No, absolutely no need to panic at all—-"

"_WHO_ the hell is the screaming Banshee making such a noise? It's disturb-"

Hermione's scream died in her throat. She stared at the gorgeous man in front of her, mouth opened in disbelief, and eyes blinking wildly to ascertain whether she was not dreaming. Yes, she had seen Draco Malfoy from a distance a while ago, but that did nothing to lessen the jolt which travelled along the entire length of her body! Her heart was thumping so hard inside her chest, and her legs could no longer hold her. She unconsciously slid down to the forest floor, leaves crackling under her.

The pale handsome boy she knew had metamorphosed into a breathtaking specimen of a male. He was wearing black jeans and a sleeveless beige shirt. His clothes moulded perfectly to his slender, washboard body; they must cry tears of blood when he shed them off at the end of the day... She could not stop herself from hungrily devouring him with her eyes - the shaggy dark blond hair that reached his bronzed shoulders, the strikingly handsome feline features of his face; he oozed danger, power, and wicked virility. Those amazing silver grey eyes with its queer splashes of blue seemed to gaze upon her with such scorching intensity.

As her gaze travelled down to his sinful lips, she swallowed. She was seeing Draco Malfoy, her enemy, after six years! It was understandable that just by looking at him, she was feeling all kinds of indefinable emotions! It was perfectly understandable that she had stopped hearing the birds' lively chirping in the trees; that she did not notice the Komodo Eiferatu, which was busy sniffing her mud-caked boots.

He was the first to break the still, silently simmering silence.

"Is that you, Granger?" Draco asked, lips curving slightly.

The half-formed smile on his face was stunning, until Hermione realised it was there at her expense. How cruelly ironic that she should come across him, after six years, whilst covered in mud! He who had called her '_Mud_blood' on countless occasions before! Her eyes were smarting with humiliation and awful self-consciousness. She could feel mud sliding down on either side of her face; at least she would be spared the embarrassment of him seeing her reddened cheeks! Just then, Hermione felt an odd quiver in the tree behind her. She had no time to turn and see the reason why. Draco was already retrieving his wand and pointing it straight at her.

"Sshhh...Don't say a word, Granger," he said softly as he took some steps forward. The smile on his face became darkly sinister. "And don't move, unless you want to be ripped to pieces."

Unlike her usual quick self, Hermione was unable to stir and her mind was not working at all. Her wand lay pinned to the ground, under the sweaty palm of her hand. What was he going to do? Put a curse on her? The Draco of six years ago would surely not have hesitated to do so, given his known hatred for Muggle-borns, and she would have been able to defend herself.

This one was too swift even for her. She raised her hands to shield her face from the forthcoming hex.

"Somnus," Draco whispered. A warm yellow beam shot from the end of his wand and hit the tree right next to her ears.

It hadn't hit her? It missed? She felt the tree shudder before it completely stilled. It quickly registered through Hermione's mind that the_ Somnus _spell was meant to induce sleep.

"Thought I was going to put a curse on you, Granger?" Draco smirked as Hermione looked up. "Who knows, I might still, for your being so foolish."

"What—what do you mean? Why did you-"

"Look behind you, Granger. Contrary to first appearances, this is not merely a Strangler Fig." The maddening half-smile on his devilishly attractive face was still there!

Hermione turned, her face soon contorting in sheer horror at what she saw. She hastily scrambled away from the tree, hand tightening on her wand, and still not trusting her feet to support her.

"Th—that's a _Drosera Septopas_!" How come she had not noticed until now? She could never admit she had been too busy staring at him all this time!

"Yes, in other words, it is one of the seven famed man-eating trees of the Wizarding World. You are lucky the tree's eating habits are nocturnal. You nearly managed to wake it up with the tantrum you were throwing, Granger." Hermione dared not imagine what would have happened if Draco had not cast the sleeping spell back on it. The shock of having nearly been the dinner of a tree was waning fast, and the shock that Draco had been the one to come to her aid was settling in. It then struck her that, covered in mud as she was, she should have been completely unrecognisable!

"How did you know it was me?" Hermione asked, genuinely puzzled. She glanced down at her clothes again; yes, she was indeed entirely covered in mud from head to toe! "I was-ohhh the—the Komodo Eiferatu!" Hermione stuttered, on the brink of screaming once more as she noticed the creature, which had until then stayed as still as a statue, starting to approach her again.

"Calm down, Granger, that's my pet, Earl of Angkor. Don't worry, he is a vegetarian, and he is just six months old, a baby really," an amused Draco explained as, to Hermione's wonder, he extended a hand to her. "Earl, go back, you are scaring the human here," Draco shooed Earl away. Hermione watched, befuddled, as Earl looked at her with extremely innocent eyes, as if she had somehow deeply hurt the poor creature, and it gloomily made its way back to the swamp.

What had just happened? Draco Malfoy had heard her silly screams in the dense Cambodian jungles, saved her from a man-eating tree and his pet, which was named Earl of Angkor. She had then managed to offend Earl, and Draco Malfoy was now extending a hand to her in spite of the filthy state she was in! She must be getting delusional. Hermione touched the side of her head - there was really no sign of injury there!

"But-but the book by the famous Agrippa said the Komodo Eiferatu is a very dangerous-"

"Few things written in books are ever correct, Granger. It is what you experience as an individual that counts. Anyway, you can't go believing a book written by someone who has never been through the jungles of Cambodia in the first place," Draco answered quietly.

Hermione's eyes would not budge from his handsome face. From all her memories, this was the first answer Draco Malfoy had deigned to give which did not contain allusions to his own superior knowledge or status.

"Granger, my arm is aching here," Draco exclaimed a few minutes later after Hermione showed no sign of her seeing the helping hand he extended.

"Oh, it's—it's okay; I can get up. Besides I'm covered in mud," Hermione said in a nervous laugh. She tried to scramble to a standing position on her own, but the ground proved too slippery. Two hands that felt like bands of steel at once enclosed her waist, bringing her to her feet. Her eyes collided with Draco's, and she couldn't help but shiver as another jolt of electricity shot down her back.

"What are you doing here, Granger?" he asked, the bands of steel still not releasing her from their strong hold. "Aren't you afraid of coming across a big bad wolf?"

Hermione couldn't unlock her eyes from his imprisoning gaze. Such a hypnotic big bad wolf, she thought in a daze. She blinked and tried to find her traitorous vocal cords back.

Draco Malfoy had never rendered her speechless before; she had always had a cutting comeback to meet each of his jibes. Could it simply be because he was actually being polite to her? Something that had never happened before! She tried not to think too much of the fact that he was still holding her, and that strange sensations were running up and down her body.

"I assure you I can defend myself against any bad wolf. I'm on a very important mission on the behest of the Ministry of Magic; I have to find Ladon Hydras. What are _you_ doing here? And how come you are being so—so civil to me?" Draco abruptly released Hermione, making her feel oddly bereft.

"Would you rather I be rude to you?" Draco asked, with another slight twitch of his lips.

"No—I just-"

"You better go back from where you came, Granger. Ladon Hydras might not want to meet you," Draco said somewhat cryptically.

"And why is that?" Hermione asked, a tad bit on the defensive. "Why is it that no one here wants to tell me where he is?"

Draco glanced pointedly down at her body before answering with a self-satisfied grin. "That must be because Aphrodite apparently left her magic cestus at home." Seeing Hermione's puzzled frown as she fidgeted self-consciously, he added, "Considering the lovely state you are in, Granger, I doubt you'll be able to bewitch anyone into answering you."

"Well, I wasn't like this when I first set out; I fell into a swamp a short while ago," Hermione swiftly answered, frowning even deeper and failing despite herself to keep an unbecoming pout off her face.

"The people here are very loyal, Granger. They will not knowingly disclose the location of someone they respect to strangers," Draco revealed, an amused light dancing at the back of his eyes. "It's a surprise you've actually managed to get till here."

"Does that mean Mr. Hydras is near?" Hermione questioned eagerly.

"Tell me, what is it you want to talk to him about?" Draco enquired. "Is it about the Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World? If so, don't bother. About twenty other people from Ministries around the world have already asked for an audience with him; their polite requests have been all been declined." Draco paused. "Why should Ladon Hydras make an exception for you?"

"I'll put my case to him when I meet him. Can you tell me where I might find him?"

"Not before you tell why you want to see him," Draco insisted.

"Hmm, as the existence of the Seven Wonders has already been made public, I suppose I can tell you. The Ministry believes that Mr. Hydras is in Cambodia, looking for the Lovers' Heart. I am to propose my help to him in such a quest and bring the Lovers' Heart back to England. I also need to convince Mr. Hydras to attend the Wizard World Conference which will take place in four days time."

Hermione could not repress the shiver that ran down her back as Draco kept gazing at her. Damn it, she must really look horrible. "I have told you why I am here, now would you please tell me where I can find Mr. Hydras?"

"Nothing is free in this world, Granger. If I do tell you where he is, I would want something in exchange," Draco drawled. That wicked grin of his was fogging her mind.

"What do you want?" Hermione asked warily.

"Relax, Granger. It's not like I'm gonna ask for your soul. Right now, you only need to agree to whatever I'll later demand of you."

"Fine," Hermione asserted, without hesitating.

"I'm surprised. No conditions attached to that agreement? Bit risky, don't you think?" Draco enquired, visibly pleased.

Had she made a mistake? "Whatever it is you'll ask of me, I'll never let that be the cause of harm to anyone," Hermione declared fiercely.

"Go back, Granger. Ladon will never agree to take a woman with him on such dangerous quest," Draco stated, eyes darkening as he became more serious.

"Why wouldn't he? A woman is perfectly capable—wait a minute, how do you know Mr. Hydras would not agree to take a woman with him? You sound as if you know him personally!"

"Yes, I do know him. In fact I am-"

"Are you his assistant?" Hermione interrupted Draco, feeling a rush of excitement at being so near to meeting the famous Ladon.

Draco smiled down at her in amusement. Hermione's heart did a somersault. Why was it that just by talking to him, it felt as if she was waking up from a long sleep? God, there actually were goose bumps on her skin!

"You can say I work for him," he delivered mysteriously. "Now will you excuse me, Granger, I have to get back to work." Hermione looked on, perplexed, as Draco summoned a gleaming _Black Lightning 2010_ - the newest, fastest and, not to mention, most expensive broom currently available.

Draco got on the broom with effortless grace. "Wait!" Hermione cried. "You have yet to tell me where I can find Mr. Hydras." She impulsively grasped the tail of the _Black Lightning 2010_, dirtying it with her muddy fingers.

"Oh, no! I'm truly, truly sorry. I'll clean it." Hermione glanced back at Draco apologetically as she drew out a handkerchief, which was likewise muddy, from the pocket of her trousers.

"You make such a sorry figure, Granger," Draco remarked superciliously. "Get on!"

"What? Are you asking me to get on your broom?" Hermione asked in wide-eyed surprise. She even forgot to retort about _her_ not needing _him_ to feel sorry for her.

"Listen here, Granger, I have work to complete before I can take you to _The Passion Serpent_'s temporary quarters. Are you willing to wait till then? If yes, get on the broom," Draco ordered.

"Get—get on this broom?" Hermione asked reluctantly, surveying, with suspicion and distrust, the black beast of a broom with the silver lightning engraved on it.

"It's now or never, Granger," Draco breathed out impatiently.

Hermione climbed behind him, thinking about the impossibility of her staying upright on the broom. She had barely swung her leg on the other side of it when Draco took off, not unsurprisingly, at lightning speed. She would have fallen off if he did not enclose one staying arm around her waist as he peered straight ahead, steering the broom up above the trees. She thought she heard him give a light chuckle, but dismissed it as the wind messing with her mind.

She and Draco Malfoy flying on one broom, she clinging to him as if her life depended on it, he not minding her soiling both his clothes and the magnificent broom with mud – were all these happening for real? There was magic in the air; everything seemed so vibrantly colourful and full of life to Hermione. The wind whipped at her hair, her heart beat wildly, and her eyes stung with an emotion she could not place, but which made her feel as if she was on cloud nine. She could not understand the elation she was currently feeling; it was as if a burden had been lifted off her, now that the former Slytherin prince had reappeared. She hardly remembered having had such a wide smile on her face! She clung just a bit tighter to Draco, and was she losing her mind or had he too tighten his hold of her?

Right in front, Hermione could see a vast Quidditch pitch and some serious practice going on in there. The fifteen players on the field at once stopped to play and watched as Draco touched down merely a few seconds later. Clearly, some of them were substitute players, for a Quidditch team was made up of only seven players.

Hermione gratefully got off the broom, and felt her cheeks flush hotly as the well-built, mostly male, players looked at her curiously. There seemed to be only two girls on the team. She was thankful that no one was laughing, even though the girls were giving her murderous stares! She soon realised no one dared to snicker because she happened to be with Draco. They all seemed to look upon him with deep respect and even admiration!

"Get on with your training, lads; still half an hour to go!" Draco urged the players. "Sovann, a word, please," Draco said as he got back on his broom and led the teenager who was holding a Snitch in his hand aside to talk. Draco Malfoy had indeed changed from the arrogant bully he once was it seemed; he never once treated Hermione with contempt or hatred. He had, shockingly, let her sit on his broom, not minding the vile state of her clothes. What's more, he seemed to command deference from players older than him.

Hermione felt somewhat awkward as she stood on her own. Tearing her eyes away from the handsome blond deity, Hermione tried to focus on the training. She could not believe she had missed recognising the Cambodian Quidditch team, the current holder of the Quidditch World Cup, sooner! Draco came back to her side on the touchline as Sovann flew away on his broom.

"You are the mysterious coach of the fabulous Cambodian team!" Hermione exclaimed in astonishment.

"Why, it's surprising you recognised the team; I thought you were not interested in Quidditch at all," Draco observed, his attention on the players. "Chantrea, my beauty, you are not focusing on the game," Draco playfully admonished the beautiful Beater who sported two long plaits.

"Sorry, coach," Chantrea muttered and battered the Bludger away with more zeal that ever.

"We have a friendly coming up, focus guys, focus!" Draco urged his players.

"Even though I'm not that fond of Quidditch, I would still never miss watching the World Cup!" Hermione said, feeling inexplicably bothered by the fact that Draco Malfoy had addressed one of his players as 'my beauty'. "And the Cambodian players displayed such fascinating tactics and-"

"I bet you would be unable to name to me even one of the tactics used by the Cambodian team at the last World Cup," Draco delivered harshly. His voice had suddenly hardened, and he was still not looking at her. Hermione's heartbeats picked up. Could it be that because of the six years lapse, Draco Malfoy had forgotten he was used to treating her badly, but that, at the present moment, he was remembering their enmity at Hogwarts all too well?

"How can you say I won't know the-"

"You were otherwise preoccupied at the Quidditch World Cup, Granger," Draco said coldly, finally looking her straight into the eyes. His gaze chilled her.

"What do you mean I was otherwise preoccupied? Try me; I can identify any of the tactics used by your team!" Hermione hastened to aver.

"Let's see," Draco said. "Guys and girls, I want you to demonstrate any ten attacking and defensive tactics and moves we used at the World Cup. Miss Granger here will try to identify them."

At once, seven players took a particular position in the air and the substitutes came on the sideline, next to where Hermione and Draco stood. The seven players positioned themselves in a spiral formation in mid-air and started turning round and round at an impressive speed. Soon it was no longer clear who was the Beater or the Chaser; the Bludgers themselves seemed confuse and did not know who to attack.

Draco looked at Hermione questioningly. "It's the Tornado Attacking Formation!" Hermione asserted confidently, chin held high.

"That was way too easy," Draco discounted. "Another one, guys."

"The Triple Six loop," Hermione exclaimed after another remarkable demonstration.

"The Dragon Attacking Formation!"

"The Aurora Formation!"

"The Eagle Pass!"

"The Juggling Pass!"

"The Crab's Pincer!"

"The Snaffjack Roll!"

"The Beezlebeater Defence!"

"The Rolling Dice Defence!"

Hermione's smile stretched from one ear to the other at the end of the ten demonstrations, overjoyed to have correctly identified all of them.

"That's it, guys, we are finished for today! As I've told you before, I'll be away for some time; Chantrea will be the captain and coach whilst I'm gone. See you all soon," Draco dismissed his team, who then regained the changing quarters.

"I'm impressed, Granger! You can multitask it seems!" Draco said to Hermione dryly, not without some degree of contempt.

"What does my having identified those moves correctly have to do with multitasking? And now that we are on it, what do you mean I was otherwise preoccupied at the World Cup?" Hermione asked crossly.

"Only that I'm surprised you could still have focused on the game whilst snogging Weasel king. Well, you might of course have read about those moves in the Daily Prophet or something," Draco said, not looking at Hermione. He busied himself placing some struggling Bludgers in a big box.

Hermione felt blood rushing to her face. "Please don't call Ron that! And I was not snogging him at the World Cup! He just loved the moves displayed by the team! He kissed my cheek; the zooming screens showed-"

"Granger, I have no interest whatsoever in learning about what Weasel King did or did not do to you," Draco said coldly.

"You were the one who chided me about multitasking, and you weren't even at the World Cup!" Hermione remarked.

"I _was_ at the World Cup; you must have heard of Polyjuice Potion? You and Weasel King kissing made my stomach turn," Draco stated arrogantly.

"You should have closed your eyes," Hermione delivered, annoyed and embarrassed.

"I wished I was blind," Draco replied cuttingly. "Anyway, what you do with Weasel is none of my business," Draco said in a detached manner. Hermione felt as if he had conjured an invisible barrier between them which, inexplicably, bothered her.

"I've asked Sovann to take a message to Ladon. Should Ladon agree to hear you out, I'll take you to him. It is more likely he'll refuse, though." Draco turned to Hermione and noted with amusement, "The _Scourgify_ spell won't work on this type of mud, Granger."

A dark flush soon covered Hermione's cheeks at having been so caught. She had been surreptitiously trying to clean herself of the drying mud, but it was a futile attempt.

"I—I know—well, even if his reply is a negative, I will still go in search of the Lovers' Heart!" Hermione defiantly maintained.

"Has that famed intelligence of yours turned to stupid recklessness, Granger? You don't have an original map; a real Papyro Ithicus. You cannot possibly hope to find a Wonder without one," Draco surmised, a mysterious shadow falling across his face.

Another shiver ran down Hermione's spine. "And besides, it is a very dangerous enterprise. Return to your cosy office at the Ministry," Draco said dismissively. He knelt down to arrange the fluttering Snitch inside the box.

Hermione resisted the urge to thump her foot down and make him listen to her. Instead, she knelt down next to him and slapped her hand on the box. "I don't need you to tell me it's a dangerous undertaking; I've figured this out for myself. I've been assigned a task, and I will do my best to complete it," Hermione declared, fire flashing in her eyes as Draco turned to face her.

She soon realised it was a mistake to have knelt down next to him. She was sure he could hear her heart hammering madly. Why was this Draco having such an effect on her? Hermione found she could not look into his eyes for too long. Strangely enough, keeping sustained eye contact with him felt disturbingly intimate, and she feared her eyes showed too much of the conflicting emotions inside of her. She therefore turned her attention to the intriguing G-clef pendant around his neck. It looked oddly familiar, and Hermione tried to reminisce where she first saw it.

"How come you love that corrupted Ministry so much, Granger? It is really for the Ministry's sake that you are so bent on going in search of that Wonder, or is it that this task is a means through which you want to prove yourself?" Draco asked shrewdly.

"Prove myself? Why should I want to prove myself? I've already done that six years ago, Malfoy, unlike- unlike some of us who had no choice but to cowardly disappear," Hermione snapped huffily. To her even grander shock, Draco threw his beautiful blond head back and started laughing as if she had just shared the funniest joke ever.

"What's—what's there to laugh?" she asked, a bit in a daze. Damn. That guy could put the sun to shame.

"Six years ago, Granger," Malfoy began as he stood up, he was suddenly grave and his eyes had acquired an intense gleam that made her shiver unconsciously, "you were quite the Joan of Arc, helping to lead the army to victory. But in the end, as time passes, people starts asking whether you deserve such recognition. They start wondering whether the role you played in Voldemort's downfall might not have been unduly inflated." Malfoy paused. He reached down and got hold of Hermione's arms. She was unaware of him helping her up, lost as she was in that yawning, azure tinged silver sea.

"They begin wondering," Malfoy came closer to her, and whispered next to her ear, "whether you are not simply a sorceress who deserves to be burnt at stake..." Hermione couldn't suppress the shudder that coursed through her. Her heart was beating in her throat. Was he trying to scare her?

Malfoy abruptly let go of her arms and walked pass her. Hermione slumped to the ground, feeling her wits starting to scatter about. Why was she breathing so heavily? The wind was starting to pick up. It whooshed through the tall trees. Dark clouds loured overhead, and it looked as if it was going to rain. _Rain?_ Hermione thought hazily. The image of a scorching fire under a thundering downpour briefly flashed across her mind. It was accompanied by the fuzzier snippets of some kind of passionate conversation.

_You are shivering, Granger… I don't want to be your friend… Mudblood… We will go back when I decide to… I think I'm falling for you… It might turn to suicidal obsession… Close your eyes…_

Hermione brought her hands to her ears in an attempt to stop that disquieting, unbidden flow of words reverberating through her head. Where had these come from? Why was she currently feeling as if she had just travelled through a storm? She quickly scrambled to her feet, hoping nobody saw her. Her legs truly needed some strengthening potion, considering the number of times they abandoned her today!

Hermione thanked the heavens Draco's back was turned to her as he stood a few metres away, talking with the boy who had returned from an errand. She tried to pretend she was identifying the types of magical plants in the forest and not snatching glimpses of Draco. The handsome man and the boy were done talking a short while later.

Draco walked back to where Hermione stood. "It's your lucky day, Granger. Ladon has agreed to help you. No need to go to the _Passion Serpent_'s quarters first. We are heading directly to the _Gypsy Marchiză's Inn._"

That infuriatingly attractive half-smile was back on the face of the former Slytherin Prince, and it felt as if the earth beneath the feet of the former Gryffindor Princess was gradually being snatched away.

**Chapter End Notes:**

Hmm...What will happen at the Gypsy Marchiză's Inn?


	13. Chapter 12: The Gypsy Marchizã's Inn

**Chapter 12:**** The Gypsy Marchizã's Inn**

The Clairvoyance Chamber was lined with floor-length mirrors, all in the shape of half moons encased in gold and silver frames. In between the mirrors stood tall candelabras on black stems, which held fat red candles with purple flames. In the middle of the chamber was a table covered in multi-layered, beige and burgundy drapes. Curled amidst their folds, a wild leopard cat stretched lazily and was soon sound asleep. An arched passageway led away from the Chamber to the mansion of Melodia, the owner of the Gypsy Marchizã's Inn. At the head of the passageway was a Griffith gargoyle, from whose open beak a delicate rose incense filled the room.

Draco leaned nonchalantly against the door frame of the smaller inner room, watching Hermione, unseen, from behind a peach-coloured sheer curtain. Its edge was rimmed with large gold sequins. The curtain was bewitched to appear opaque, and made of heavy amethyst velvet, to the people in the next room of the pub, which housed about a hundred, yet unoccupied, seats.

A little while ago, two kittens had left their mother's side, eagerly clambering down to the floor and scratching at Draco's trousers. Draco had smoothly scooped them up, and the tiny creatures now slept peacefully in his folded arms, lullabied by the soft drumming of his heart.

Draco had already had word sent to Melodia through the Seeker of his team, Sovann. Whilst Melodia had made sure that the pub was opened early for their arrival, she had not agreed to what he had requested yet. She had even asked Bella, her lady-in-waiting, to stand in front of the passageway and stop him from getting to the manor. He had tried to charm the sixty-year old Bella into letting him pass and she'd even shown signs of giving in, but, at the last minute, apologized about not wanting to find herself out of employment and huffily closed the steel gate before scampering away. Draco could have easily unlocked the gate, but he preferred to respect Melodia's wish. She could be such a jealous wench when she wanted.

The object of Draco's keen study sat on her own at a round marble table. Both of her hands supported her chin as she gazed dreamily at the small crystal ships unhurriedly navigating across the opulent room. They were decked with white, blue, and green candles. A thick old book lay closed next to the large glass of mead she had not yet touched.

_Sheer madness – that's what it had been_, Draco thought. He could have found the _Lovers' Heart_ by himself; heck, everything about this quest had been planned days ago. Why had he then impulsively agreed to take Granger with him? He could still not believe he was actually looking at her and not at a drawing instead. The last time he had seen her in person was six years ago; she and Ron Weasley had disappeared together under Potter's cloak, after the war. That had been a very hard period of time for him. It landed him in the forbidden _Land of Dementors_, bent on self-destruction as he had been...

He did not have the heart to see her disappear again. The Wizard World Conference to which he had been invited was going to take place in four days; those would be the four days he'd make the utmost of her company.

Draco had been informed about Granger looking for him as soon as she had set foot on Cambodian soil. In fact, she had started her search onboard the International Land Express itself, relentlessly interrogating her fellow passengers who had had the misfortune of sitting in the same compartment as her.

Draco had actually wanted her to find him, and he'd dropped a word to that effect with the locals. Nevertheless, seeing her in front of him had made his body ripple with shock. He had stopped breathing when he'd realised she had been sitting underneath a man-eating tree, the _Drosera Septopas_. Oh, he had been grateful she had been covered in mud from Earl of Angkor's swamp. The mud in which those great beasts spend their time acquire magical properties over time: it masks the scent of the wearer to everyone else, save the Komodo Eiferatu itself. The tree, even if it had been sleeping, would have been able to detect the scent of a human, had she not been draped in mud.

Granger had grown from an attractive girl into a beautiful young woman. He'd had difficulty releasing himself from the enchanting prison of her warm, chocolate brown eyes when they'd first met. His heart had been like a haunted train, without a driver, which raced and fell off a precipice. The train had not crashed yet; its fall seemed to be eternally suspended in time. He had never been able to forget her; that forbidden escapade in the abandoned tower, when they had been in their third year, had sealed his fate and locked her inside his heart.

At the time when she had been arguing about going in search of the _Lovers' Heart_ on her own, he had tried to deter her, but only half-heartedly so. He was not ready to let go of her yet. He had heard it when she had collapsed to the ground as he had left to talk to Sovann. He had very nearly turned to help her up and keep her safe by his side, but he had known Granger would have felt mortified, had he obeyed his reflex. She was a proud woman who, no doubt, would prefer to get up all on her own.

**...**

_These lovely ships have been charmed with a flying spell_, Hermione reflected. The candles they carried reflected beautifully off their pale green crystal surfaces. _What has been Draco Malfoy been up to all these years_, her meandering mind wondered for the nth time. There were a million questions she had wanted to ask him, but it was not as if they had formerly been great buddies and could take the liberty of asking about each other's lives.

An hour ago, she had been using the women-only shower of the Cambodian team. With all of her clothes still on, Hermione had tried every cleaning spell she knew of to get rid of the mud, but it would not be dislodged. Chantrea, the Beater, and the other girl of the team, Kanya, who had until then not been very welcoming, had even come to lend a helping hand. The three girls had not been able to do away with the mud despite their concerted efforts, but they had instead managed to become friends in that short amount of time. Hermione could not have helped but observe how matters of beauty and fashion (_or patent lack thereof – as in her case_) had the potential of turning mere strangers into friends in minutes, provided they were all women. It was the same both in the wizarding world and the Muggle world.

An exquisite, playful whistle, like that of a bird call, outside the magically enlarged tent had interrupted their conjectures about mud-ridding spells. Chantrea had identified it as that of Draco's with a blush and had hurried outside. Hermione, on the other hand, could not, for the life of her, fathom where she had first heard that peculiar, teasing whistle!

"Is anything the matter, Hermione?" Kanya had asked, seeing Hermione's brows furrowing in concentration.

"This—this whistle—it seems somewhat familiar to me, and yet I cannot place it," Hermione had answered.

"Does it?" Kanya had questioned doubtfully. "It's not likely you'd have heard it, though. Our coach invented it only two years ago, at our local Wizard Whistling competition," Kanya had laughingly explained.

"Wizard Whistling competition! What's that?" Hermione had asked, joining in the laughter. "I can't recall having read about such a competition anywhere!"

"I doubt you would have," Kanya had remarked. "Something quite silly really. We were all having a celebratory drink at the Gypsy Marchizã's inn after we had won the Quidditch World Cup. Sovann was whistling a love tune, and an old drunken wizard took offence. He started threatening to transfigure everybody into fleas. This could have resulted in a messy brawl if our ingenious coach did not quickly come up with the idea of having a whistling competition. It stumped everybody into baffled silence!" Kanya had exclaimed proudly. "He proposed that a whistling competition be held; the one who could come up with the most intricate whistle could have one of his wishes made true by those present."

"But why a whistling competition?" Hermione had enquired.

"It turns out our wonderful coach knew why the old wizard was in such a foul mood," Kanya had said good-humouredly.

"And why was he? How come your coach knew the reason?" Hermione had asked, genuinely intrigued.

"I'm not sure how, but the coach had been in a strange mood that evening. At times he'd join our loud carousing, and the next moment he would lapse into a silent, melancholic spell. I've never seen him drink as much as he did then," Kanya had shared pensively. "It could be he'd heard the old wizard's conversation with someone else. The old wizard himself later recounted how, fifty years ago, he'd wooed his own wife with a unique whistle he'd invented, but he'd had a fight with her shortly before leaving the house that day."

"So your coach, on purpose, came up with the whistling competition to appease the man, and make him remember the good old times," Hermione correctly surmised.

"You're right. There is not one moment in which you'd be bored when you're in his company! In fact, you'd find yourself cursing Time for so hastily passing by when he's with you! Not paying consideration to the fact that he is drop-dead gorgeous, and you could spend eternity looking at him, he truly is someone ...how do I say...mesmeric," Kanya had said with a telling sigh.

Hermione had been keen to know more. Hearing of Draco Malfoy being spoken of in such terms was positively new to her. Back in England, the Malfoys no longer had the same influence they had previously enjoyed. Lucius Malfoy no longer went about life as he once confidently did, nor did Narcissa Malfoy make many appearances in public. It was quite apparent that they missed their cherished son sorely.

"Who won the whistling contest, then?" Hermione had urged on. It must have been the superb whistle she had herself just heard, she had found herself acknowledging.

"You would have thought the one who'd proposed to have the competition would willingly take part in it. But it had taken all of the hundred or so wizards and witches at the inn to convince Draco before he finally relented. He won, of course," Kanya said, smiling affably.

"Your coach seems to be quite popular. What was his wish?" Hermione had questioned.

"Yes, he is. He's done so much for us," Kanya had said wistfully. "Well, he said he had nothing to wish for, and would rather we make the wish of the one who came second to him come true. That was none other than the old wizard who had wooed his wife with a whistle! The man's wish was nothing complicated. He just wanted the great Ladon Hydras, also distinguished for his amazing talent as a violinist, to play a serenade for the upset wife whilst he himself proffered apologies to her."

"Wow, was Ladon also at the inn, then?" a wonderstruck Hermione had asked.

"Of course! You don't know-" Kanya had started saying, frowning at her, but was interrupted by Chantrea.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Hermione and Kanya had heard Chantrea say. She had entered the tent, her wand stretched in front of her, preceded by a large silver cauldron that had floated in mid-air. "Make way, make way, girls. Hot water coming!" Chantrea had instructed.

"What's this?" Kanya had enquired. Chantrea had then made a swishing movement with her wand, and the cauldron had at once touched the floor in front of Hermione.

"The solution to making this mud wash away in no time, or so our coach deems!" Chantrea had pronounced.

Hermione had knelt down to examine the simmering yellow water from which swirls of fragrant, dark red smoke arose. The other two girls had followed her example.

"These are mango leaves, and this smell and colour—that's turmeric," Hermione exclaimed in amazement. "Why didn't I think of this first? An infusion of mango leaves, turmeric, and lukewarm water gives you a potion with germicidal properties!"

Chantrea and Kanya kept looking at her, baffled.

"This brew can wipe away germs, and it can also wash away this peculiar mud!" Hermione had cheerfully explained, glad to finally be able to clean herself. She had then proceeded to test some of the water on her sleeves, and it had proved very effective.

"But it doesn't only contain the ingredients you identified," Chantrea had stated. "The coach also added sandalwood paste and some Marigolds in that mixture."

"I see," Hermione had contemplated. "The sandalwood paste explains the aromatic, dark red smoke. Both sandalwood and Marigolds are well-known for their therapeutic properties." They had not been essential for the potion, though. It had been a very thoughtful gesture on Draco's part.

After that, Chantrea and Kanya had left so that she could take her bath.

Hermione, immaculately dressed and refreshed, had met Draco outside half an hour later. There had been just the two of them. The members of the Cambodian team had all left. The wind had been blowing quite ferociously by then, but the dark clouds had given way to a glorious sunset.

Draco had been standing just outside the tent, hands crossed against his broad chest. He had already showered and carelessly hand combed his damp hair back. There was a tiny, silver dragon stud in his left ear, which she had not noticed earlier_. With or without it, he would still look the rakish wolf he was,_ Hermione had thought.

His own mud-stained clothes were gone and, instead, he wore a white, long-sleeved shirt and black trousers. The sleeves of his shirt had been slightly rolled up, revealing a silver Figaro bracelet around a strong, masculine wrist. The rays of the sun, having succumbed to the rakish wolf's charms, had been filtering through the sinful thinness of his shirt, reverently kissing his well-toned abdomen.

Hermione had not been able to stop herself from smiling at him. Words had seemed superfluous and unnecessary at that moment. She had felt her heart resuming its strange, frantic tango again.

Draco had answered with a half-smile of his own. He said not a word, but extended his hand towards her. Hermione had known they were going to Disapparate together, but she had not even asked where to. She had taken his hand, for the first time, implicitly trusting this _mesmeric_ Draco.

**...**

They had Apparated outside the Gypsy Marchizã's Inn.

"This is where our quest begins," Draco had said, as he had let go of her hand.

"But I need to meet Mr. Ladon Hydras first. Why are we here?"Hermione had demanded. She had had to resist the crazy urge to nab his hand back.

"You'll soon figure out," Draco had proffered, not enlightening her as much as she would have wished him to. He had then pushed open the inn's wide wooden door. Hermione had been fascinated by the interior.

The large pub had white-washed stone walls and dark wood panelling. The wall on the left was in effect a waterfall façade with pink and dark blue flower bushes, amongst which frolicked tiny pixies and fairies. In the middle of the room was a wooden stage, partly adorned by a sandy coloured sculpture of a massive ten-headed snake affectionately curled around a lioness. The jaws of the snake gaped open at irregular intervals and from there flowed liquor of various colours.

Draco had motioned Hermione to take a seat, while he himself vanished behind a heavy velvet curtain.

**...**

There were only a few tables which were not taken at present. An endless assortment of witches and wizards steadily filed into the pub, instantly engaging themselves in animated conversations, of which Hermione could sadly make neither head nor tail, for they spoke Khmer. The flying schooners were at present navigating at a frenzied pace, carrying and delivering drinks and snacks to whoever asked for them.

A silly debate raged on inside Hermione. She doubted anyone has had to ponder over something as ridiculous, yet so confounding! She could not settle on how to call that one time Muggleborn-hater, Slytherin brat! Well, he had changed of course, and there rested this inane indecisiveness! Should she continue to call him 'Malfoy'? Or, should she start calling him 'Draco'? When she had come across him in the forest, she had called him 'Malfoy', having been startled out of her wits. There had been no time to think. And then, when they had started conversing, she had unwittingly omitted from saying his name. Calling him 'Malfoy' seemed too impersonal, as if she wanted to distance him. Well, impersonal was not a bad thing, but it made her uncomfortable! 'Malfoy' had been perfect when they had been at Hogwarts, but, for some reason, it didn't seem quite as fitting now.

If she addressed him as 'Draco', wouldn't it seem too sudden? They were neither close, nor friendly enough for her to call him by his first name.

_Arrrggg, what an absurd dilemma!_ Hermione thought.

"Talking to yourself, young lady?" an elderly woman asked. "Do you mind if I join you?" She had an amused, benevolent smile on her face, and she wore a maroon shawl over a green gown.

"Not at all; please do." Hermione stood up and drew back a chair for the woman to sit. "I didn't realise I said that aloud," Hermione added, flushing.

"Thank you, child. I am Hildy. And no, you didn't say anything aloud," the woman supplied. "You had such a troubled look on your face. I couldn't help wonder which quandary you found yourself in."

"Nice to meet you, Hildy. I am Hermione Granger. Oh, it's nothing really. I was just having a daft conversation with myself," Hermione answered, embarrassed. There was no way in the world she would have shared what she had been debating about!

"I see." The woman smiled kindly. "I haven't seen you around here before," she observed. "Are you English, dear?"

"Yes, I am. This is my first time in Cambodia."

"Forgive me for being nosy, child; are you perhaps here to meet Ladon Hydras?"

"How did you know?" Hermione asked, befuddled.

"It's not a huge guess, my dear. Every new face we see around here, and there have been scores of them, inevitably comes in search of our dear Ladon. But the thing is, Ladon lets only a privileged few find him."

"I suppose so. I've been wading through the jungle for about two days! Thankfully, I came across Drac—I mean-Malf—Mr Draco Malfoy, who is the assistant of-"

"Draco? Assistant? Pardon me for having interrupted you, child. It just felt exceedingly incongruous to hear of that exquisite man being talked of as 'assistant'. Is that what he told you?"

"Well—er—I—I assumed he was-" Hermione forgot about completing her sentence. Now that she was thinking it over, Draco never said he was the assistant of Ladon Hydras; _she_ had assumed this was the case. He had not even denied it! Had he been having a secret laugh over her misunderstanding? How come he knew Ladon so well, then? It couldn't be...

"I see that devilish person has not really bothered to enlighten you, my dear," Hildy remarked. "Draco _is_ Ladon Hydras. And I am telling you this only because, since he's brought you here, it is clear he doesn't mind you finding about Ladon Hydras's real identity."

The female leopard cat on the table hissed threateningly, foiling Melodia's attempt to surprise Draco. He had been lost in contemplation, like the alluring statue of a seraph halloed by the soft light which filtered through the sheer curtain. Only huge wings made of polished black scales, in lieu of the traditional white feathers, were missing to complete the picture.

"It's okay, pretty," Draco said to the mother cat, which immediately calmed down as he caressed the side of her face. He gently placed the two kittens back at their mother's side.

Her own cat, a male she had brought up for the last two years, purred in a consolatory way at her feet. Leopard cats were known to pair up for life, and her wretched cat had had to go out and mate with that wild one!

"I wonder how you manage to charm wild creatures as well," Melodia said in an accusing tone.

"Pleased to see you too, fiery lass. Why 'as well'?" Draco asked, amused.

"You very well know! Few are those who can resist you, it seems; not even animals! I asked old Bella to stand guard here till I arrive, and what did she do? She ran away from you! You're a dangerous beast, Draco, and that's why I will never fall for you!" Melodia answered as she gave a last check to her appearance in one of the crescent-shaped mirrors. She wore all kinds of trinkets and jewellery: amulets with runic inscriptions, a dozen sapphire and gold bracelets in each hand, a thin gold headband, hooped jade earrings, and a necklace embedded with a variety of gemstones. At its centre was a pink sapphire pendant Draco had gifted her.

"I know. It would make you a dull woman, otherwise," Draco replied, smirking.

Melodia adjusted the fringe belt of her flowing dark red skirt, which had tiny golden beads that clanged musically as she moved. "Something has made me curious for quite some time now. How come you can pacify angry animals?"

"It's not something I do deliberately. I have always been able to communicate with Sirin, my deaf eagle owl. There was this incident with a Hippogriff, in my third year at Hogwarts..." Draco let his sentence drift off, not bothering to finish it. He busied himself counting the tiny satin flowers in Melodia's curly, long black hair.

"Oh, I forgot! You don't like talking about your school years. I know part of it is because of the war with Voldemort. Something tells me it isn't just that, though. Can it be you were bullied for being so clever and good-looking?" Melodia asked, hands on hips.

Draco chuckled. "You cannot imagine how much. Life was hell!"

"Poor you! If I could turn time back, I would have hexed all those little imps who dared hurt you," Melodia declared fiercely.

Draco came closer to Melodia, holding onto her waist as they gazed at each other in the mirror. "I was kidding. I was the bully, rather. A hated bully," he delivered gravely, something in his irresistibly beautiful eyes reached out to Melodia. Instead of chiding him, she found herself thinking what it would be like to get lost in those eyes. Snap out of it, Melodia; this man is a lady killer!

"If you are trying to seduce me, then, forget it," Melodia snapped, walking to the next mirror.

"I can't fool you, but I can unsettle you, it appears," Draco said. A teasing half-smile danced at the corners of his lips.

"No, you can't! What is it you want to know, Draco?" Melodia asked.

"The location of the Gypsy Caravan, as I told you in the message," Draco replied.

"The laces in my bodice need to be tightened, can you help, please?" Melodia droned.

Draco, who had been leaning against the edge of the table, at once came to Melodia's side.

"For the laces to be tightened, they need to be undone first," Draco said seductively, but his hands were already undoing and tightening the laces of the golden bodice, which were fitted with gold coins, in keeping the gypsy custom.

"You must have—ugh—" Melodia gasped as a roguish Draco, on purpose, tied the lace a tad too roughly.

"What were you saying, Melodia?" he prompted innocently. The light in his eyes was all but innocent, Melodia thought as she looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"You must have done this quite –ugghh—a number of times before." Draco allowed her to complete her sentence, as he himself finished securing the last strap of lace.

"That's not important. Are you going to tell me where the Gypsy Caravan is? It can save me about a day or two of searching," Draco renewed his request.

"Who dares refuse the great Ladon anything? Of course, I'll tell you; but, first, you must agree to perform with me tonight! I've planned a very complicated fire act, which I'll be able to execute only with your help," Melodia chimed excitedly.

**...**

Silence reigned inside the Gypsy Marchizã's Inn. Not one soul dared to cough, or to stir.

A fog enveloped the stage, and a light rain started falling. The audience heard a very brief, but beautiful tune that seemed as if it floated on air, whispered in their ears, and then disappeared inside their hearts. Afterwards, there was silence again; one that throbbed with hidden significance and foreboding. Something seemed to be moving inside the fog; the spectators spied a flash of red and gold scurrying away, but it could have been a trick of the light.

All of a sudden, there was a frightening roar. It appeared to be that of a dragon. A dragon? Here? It couldn't be! But... there was the unmistakable sound of huge wings being deployed! How had a dragon penetrated inside the inn? Frozen in both fear and rapture, nobody risked to make a move. Yes, it was a dragon. Its glowing eyes pierced through the thickness of the fog and stared at each one of them, as if it could see the bottom of their souls, their secrets, and sins. It let out another frightful roar, making the audience tremble. They could not even let their hands creep towards their wands.

The spectators watched in awe as the dragon spewed bright red fire on the stage. From its flare, they caught a glimpse of the polished black scales of the magnificent beast, but the moment lasted mere seconds. The fog progressively thickened, and the dragon's piercing stare vanished. The dragon-fire started to grow weaker and weaker. A fierce wind swept through the room, in between the tables and chairs, howling chillingly.

Before long, the hammering stillness, once more, conquered the place.

A violin started playing, rekindling the dragon-fire, which began to dance in step with the rhythm set by the instrument. The fog gradually waned into a light mist, finally revealing the handsome musician to the audience. Draco's eyes were closed as he seduced a piercingly beautiful tune, which felt almost otherworldly, out of his Stradivarius. It reminded the audience of gentle waves crashing on sandy shores, of dew trickling down the satiny petals of a wild orchid, of the fading hours of dusk, of words spoken with the eyes only...

It made them want to listen and listen...and listen.

The dragon-fire, lured on by the entrancing violin tune, kept getting bigger and bigger until it grew as tall as a human being. To the wonder of all those present, the form of a woman started to materialise inside the fire, and soon Melodia, eyes tightly shut, stood before them. She started to dance, her movements lissom and graceful, as if she too were hypnotised like the fire she was caged in. The charismatic violinist had one of his teasing half-smile on his face again, making the women sigh collectively in admiration. The fire continued to swell until it engulfed Draco, as well. Melodia immediately stilled. Once inside the fire, he proceeded to put the violin down; each one of his movements made the people in the room look on with bated breath.

The languid cackle of the fire, the dawdling cascade of the indoor waterfall, and the dull thuds of hearts, were the only sounds in the inn. Draco stood next to Melodia's side and gently turned her so that she faced him. Her eyes slowly opened from the trance-like state she had been in, and she stared up at him. The violin on the floor slowly rose in the air and started playing a heady Caprice on its own accord. The two of them enacted the famous Khmer legend about a tyrannical wizard king, who terrorised his own kingdom, and, his people, having had enough of his cruelty, calling upon a powerful witch for help.

Draco and Melodia, portraying the wizard king and witch respectively, fired an astounding array of hexes and jinxes at each other in a most impressive, splendid duel.

According to the story, the witch won the duel which took place between the two, but she did not kill the king. She cursed him to wander aimlessly around the world with the face of a formidable monster that could neither see, nor talk. The witch had heard of the king's fondness for music, and, in an act of womanly generosity, stopped herself from cursing the king with deafness and gave him a violin. The monster, with the body of a man, wandered across the Earth playing his violin for many years. Having nothing else to live for, he found delight in his instrument.

However, as the years trickled by, his music kept getting sadder and sadder, and the witch found herself following him on his travels and clearing the obstacles that could make him trip and get hurt. One day, the witch slept much longer than she used to. The monster, blundering about without caring where he went, fell down a cliff, and his violin smashed to smithereens. When the witch found him covered in blood, and scarcely breathing, she immediately took back all of the curses, and nursed him back to health.

The magnificent show, which lasted for about an hour and a half, ended with a classic fairy-tale touch where the witch and the king fell in love with each other.

The rapturous audience resoundingly applauded the two main protagonists on the stage. Only one of its member obstinately refused to join her hands together; and, by doing so, attracted the interest and surprise of the Gypsy Marchiză, who was of the idea she had just accomplished one of her best performances ever – not to forget that the irresistible Ladon Hydras was standing just besides her! Nobody, just nobody, was left unaffected by that man!

The obstinate woman was busy looking at the empty bottom of a large glass of mead, shaking the glass in the air in the hope that more giddy liquor would flow out of it. The old witch sitting next to her looked quite beside herself, having in vain tried to stop the young lady from consuming way more alcohol than she could ever tolerate.

"Is that the woman you said you were going to bring with you?" Melodia nodded in Hermione's direction, frowning in disbelief.

Brown hair ineffectually swept up in an unravelling bun, white blouse underneath a dark brown cardigan, long white skirt with tiny spidery flower patterns around the edges, dark brown bootie shoes, reddened cheeks with a few light freckles - the woman was miles away from the type of females who were generally seen in the company of Draco Malfoy!

"You guessed right for once, Melodia," Draco said gravely. "That's Hermione Granger." A rather unrecognisable Hermione Granger.

"I thought you stayed far away from such women: the ones that screamed virtue and principles. This Granger woman, even in her drunken state, reeks of those."

"She doesn't look it right now, but that woman has got brains you could only aspire to get in a thousand light years," Draco teased, knowing what Melodia would reply to that.

They made their way down the stage with Draco gallantly holding her hand as they descended the stone steps.

At present, a handsome, but gloomy-looking, young man whose long black cape trailed on the floor, walked on the stage, and bowed in front of the audience, his long dark ringlets nearly touching the floor in the process. He glanced briefly at Melodia and Draco, and then sat himself at a piano, which had materialised as soon as he had appeared.

Strangely, only Draco had returned his bow and nodded back at him; nobody else had even deigned to acknowledge his presence. Melodia had resolutely turned her back to him. Those few wizards who had condescended to look up at him only did so with an odd antipathy and resentment shining at the back of their eyes.

Melodia urged the rest of the jubilant crowd to continue with their revelling, whilst Draco courteously turned down the profusion of offers to have drinks with them. It was quite challenging to fray a passage in order to get to Hermione's table, for a few fat witches were boisterously fighting with each other so as to have a grab at Draco.

"Very funny. However they are, I'm proud of my brains, and I don't aspire to have anyone else's," Melodia retorted briskly.

"That's why my Melodia is so much more beautiful than Bartok's Melodia," Draco breathed in Melodia's ear.

"Don't my Melodia me! You always use the possessive when you are in the mood of treating me as your sister," Melodia admonished, stopping to face Draco. "Don't use 'my' so carelessly with me, Mister Draco, and stop that habit of toying with women. They have hearts, you know?" Melodia turned to go, but was stopped by Draco as he caught her wrist, compelling her to face him. He then framed Melodia's face with his hands.

"My Melodia, my Melodia, my Melodia, my dear Melodia..." Draco iterated, until Melodia's eyes swam with tears.

"I will curse you, cruel king," Melodia complained feebly, a weak smile forming on her face. "Now let go of me; people are staring." Draco did not let go, but instead Apparated in the Clairvoyance Chamber, taking her with him.

Draco smiled sadly at her, his arresting eyes twinkling a bit too brightly, and hugged her fondly in his arms; his embrace was so strong and warm... "I'm sorry, Melodia. I won't say it again, but I wanted to see those tears; I wanted to see what you've so long repressed deep in your heart."

"Anything is forgiven for you, sexy Mister!" Melodia sighed. You can say 'my Melodia'; you have more right than that dim-witted fool, anyway. He picked it up from you!" Melodia said, her voice cracking.

"Ssshhh...Quiet now. It's okay, love. The two of you are an incomparable pair." Draco wiped a solitary tear from Melodia's cheek. "Look at the moon," Draco urged, turning her face to one of the mirrors. "Don't you think you'd give those watching you through a telescope a shock if they see flooded rivers on its surface?"

Melodia smiled.

"What do I do, Draco?"

"Let him listen to what your heart says, Melodia."

"But I-"

"I know. Your heart and your mind say the same thing, but you've only let your mind speak to him; you haven't given a chance for your heart to plead with him."

"I hate him for disappearing like that for months at length, and then reappearing, like today, when he realises I can never look at anybody else, other than him," Melodia confessed tearfully. "He should know I live for only those two precious weeks, Draco."

Draco looked at her for a long time before saying: "He's in agony, Melodia. Sheer, intense pain. He thinks he's holding you down to him. He believes there's nobody worse than him on Earth."

"But I told him countless times that I cannot live without him. He doesn't listen...he wouldn't...he wouldn't..." Melodia felt her insides clogged with those familiar emotions of longing and anguish.

"Don't just reproach him with words; let your heart tell its own tale of agony. He would understand if you let him feel your pain, Melodia."

"But I—if I let him feel that, he-wouldn't he feel even guiltier? I don't want to make him more miserable."

"By trying to lessen each other's pain, and not sharing how both of you truthfully feel, there will always be fears and misgivings, Melodia. Don't keep anything back. Confess everything to him, will you?"

Melodia gave a courageous smile, feeling much more self-assured. "Yes. I will, tonight. Thank you, my Draco. What would I have done without you?"

"I haven't done anything you need to thank me for, love," Draco said grimly.

"What you did was more than enough. It's because of you that we have those two priceless weeks, where we can..." Melodia flushed a dark red.

Draco gave a quiet laugh.

"Forget I said anything, and wipe out that mischievous light at the back of your eyes," a blushing Melodia urged. "Now let's go before that brat makes everyone weep because of that doleful music he takes so much pleasure in making."

A ringing crash in the inn made them stop in their tracks. It was soon followed by a deafening: "MALFOY, YOU STUPID, HATEFUL, PRETENTIOUS SNOB! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" There was another booming crash, followed by loud expressions of consternation, alarm, and incredulity on the part of the other witches and wizards.

Melodia's mouth had fallen open in shock, but, to her astonishment, Draco merely looked highly amused - in no hurry at all to go and see who was using the _Sonorus_ charm to get back at him.

"COME OUT; COME OUT, YOU – YOU ARROGANT, WOMANISING SERPENT." Hermione stood precariously on her table, struggling to hold a heavy book in one hand, and her wand in the other. She pretended she was unfazed by the sudden stillness that had crept over the room.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, HILDY?" Hermione asked the embarrassed old witch, who had been surreptitiously trying to flee from the fiery young witch's company. Everybody's eyes were currently glued to their table.

"Nowhere, child," old Hildy said, feeling faint.

"OH OKAY, I THOUGHT YOU WERE TRYING TO ESCAPE!" Hermione let out a hysterical laugh, the echoes of which boomeranged across the room. "WHERE WAS I? SERPENT? MALFOY? MALFOY! DO YOU THINK YOURSELF AT LIBERTY TO WASTE MY TIME WHICHEVER WAY YOU LIKE?" Hermione heartily resumed her angry outburst against the tall god, who had just Apparated back. "SO WHAT IF YOU ARE LADON HYDRAS? I AM NOT HERE TO LOOK AT YOU ENACTING A VARIANT OF THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, OR OUTRAGEOUSLY flirting and romancing with all the crazy women—huh? What happened?" Hermione said, noticing that the pitch of her voice had abruptly gone back to normal.

"_Sonorus!_" she exclaimed, pointing the tip of her wand to her mouth.

"_Quietus,"_ a sexy, ridiculously masculine voice said from across the room, ending the _Sonorus _charm; that sinful sound could make any woman shiver in delight! Hermione comically raised her hand to her forehead, as if to shield herself from an uncomfortable glare, in order to look at where the familiar voice had come from. She saw Draco steadily advancing towards her, and he looked displeased. _Good!_ _Excellent!_ He had left her there on her own for about two hours and half! True, the show had been fascinating. _He_ had been fascinating, but that did not give him the right to do what he pleased, without at least telling her why they were there!

"Will you please get down?" Draco asked Hermione. Melodia urged the crowd not to mind this _little _interruption, but no one paid attention to her, riveted as they were to the unfolding drama. Nobody had ever addressed Draco Malfoy, who was none other than their much loved Ladon Hydras, so cheekily, and with such audaciousness!

"I am not your slave to be commanded, you understand, _Malfoy?_" Hermione snapped, as she dropped her heavy book on the table. The movement made her lose her already wobbly balance, and she fell...straight into Draco's arms. The floor was strewn with the sharp fragments of glasses Hermione had accidentally flipped over when she had scrambled onto the table. She could have been badly hurt if Draco had not been there! A loud "ooohhhh" of relief, on the part of the wizards, and envy, on the part of the witches, purled across the room.

"I know; that's why I said 'please', inamorata," Draco chuckled softly.

_What's that susurration in my ear?_ Hermione wondered, feeling dazed. She must have lost consciousness for the barest second. Eyes tightly closed, Hermione tried to identify which part of her body had been injured. Curiously, other than the burning down her throat, she could feel no pain! She risked opening one of her eyes, and found herself squinting up at that incredibly handsome face. _There were so many oceans in his eyes,_ she thought. He befuddled her mind!

"Malfoy? What are you doing in the corridors at this time of the night? Prefects should lead by example! Shouldn't you be in the Slytherin dormitory?" Hermione asked, marvelling at that highly attractive five o'clock shadow on his face. The people in the inn burst out laughing and a fat, male voice snorted: "That woman is a goner!" Another thinner, but equally drunk, voice hooted: "Master Draco, only you can handle her!"

"Who is shouting?" Hermione hollered. "Let me catch you; you bunch of mischievous prankst-"

"Quiet," Draco said, putting a finger across Hermione's lips. He had lowered her on one of the cushioned seats, and now drew a chair nearer to hers and sat down.

"Although you have sustained no injury to your head, you are acting as if you have. Why did you drink so much when, very clearly, you cannot tolerate alcohol, woman?" Draco leaned closer to Hermione, an elbow on the table and the palm of his hand holding the side of his face, as if he was trying to decipher the most puzzling mystery ever.

Hermione tilted her head to one side, pursed her lips, and lost herself studying this fantastic, bright creature by her side.

Melodia snapped her fingers in the air between them. Draco immediately leaned back, as if he had been surprised, but Hermione, still under a strange spell, kept staring at him, a suspicious light hovering at the back of her eyes.

"Has our Ladon Hydras finally met his match?" a laughing Melodia inquired.

"Melodia, will you-

"Utterly absorbing!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed, standing up and interrupting Draco. "Malfoy, you are a book!" She then slumped back down and continued scrutinising his face, holding her chin in between her thumb and forefinger.

"Draco, that's a very unique compliment you've earned there," a young woman said, giggling.

"Don't trouble yourself with her; come to us here. We'll shower you with sweeter praises, rather than calling you a mere book," another young woman added, sneering at Hermione.

"Thanks for the tempting offer, Venetia, but I'm afraid I can't join you beautiful girls, tonight." Draco, the roguish rake, smiled. The girls waved their peacock-feathered fans more energetically, turning red.

"Ahh, it-it doesn't matter!" the girl called Venetia said, blushing deeply. "Yes, it's okay," chorused the other four girls sitting at the same table. The air had suddenly turned very hot, and they were feeling all sweaty in their colourful, silk dresses.

If Draco Malfoy has been refusing all the kind offers to have drinks with the lively, unruly congregation, it certainly meant he had some other business on his mind. They were all extremely proud he trusted them enough so as to never retire to private quarters in order to talk business with anyone who sought him. They were exceptionally loyal to him, and out of deference, struggled not to eavesdrop on his conversations; however, those were always so very interesting that they almost always failed in their noble endeavour!

"Can you brew Miss Granger some of your _Sobering_ potion, chica?" Draco requested Melodia.

"Yes! A captivating book!" Hermione interjected, pointing a finger towards Draco.

"Right away, _my lord_," Melodia said, sniggering as she walked away.

"I don't want a _Sobering_ potion! Get me some of that _Pineapple Cocktail!_" Hermione ordered. Immediately, a crystal ship made its way to their table. It transported a flute of the transparent, yellow-tinted liquid with the light green flames. Hermione made for the drink, but Draco caught her hand before she could reach it.

"No more drinks," Draco cautioned.

The ship started to make its way back when Hermione irately commanded: "Come back; I want that!" This triggered a puzzling interlude where Draco repeatedly refused the drink, and Hermione adamantly kept calling for it. Torn in two different directions, the candles on the poor ship burnt out in no time, and it was so worn out that it started to flail about helplessly.

"You've had enough, Granger!" Draco bit out, losing patience.

"Shut up, _Malfoy_!" Hermione said, putting undue emphasis on his name as she stood up again. It was her turn to stop Draco's forthcoming protest by putting a finger across his lips. The inn was buzzing with astonished whispers, anew.

"You—you brought me here, and then you abandon me! You didn't even tell me you were Ladon Hydras! Did you—did you enjoy playing me for a fool?" Hermione asked. "I—I don't even understand Khmer; if Hildy had not been kind enough to talk to me, I would have sat here like a sad monkey! I did-" Hermione, besieged by a bout of hiccups, found it quite difficult to continue her sentence.

"Why—_hic_—why are you—_hic_-laug—_hic_—hing—_Mal_—_hic_-_foy_?" Hermione asked as Draco lowered her finger from his lips.

Melodia came back with a glass filled with a translucent potion which hissed delicately. A lemon-scented vapour spun out of it.

"Thank-you, chica," Draco said, taking the _Sobering_ potion from the still smiling Melodia.

"Anything for you, my lord," Melodia quipped.

"Here, drink this. You'll feel better," Draco urged Hermione, putting a coaxing hand at the back of her head.

"Do you want to poison me, _Malfoy_?" Hermione looked at him charily, but she did not wait for his answer, closing her eyes and drinking from the glass he placed at her lips.

"You know the potion will only stamp out the effects of about three glasses of liquor, right?" Melodia said.

Old Hildy fidgeted nervously with the edge of her shawl. "Merlin! But this young lady has had seven glasses—sorry, my dear Draco, I tried to persuade her out of it, but she wouldn't listen-"

"Right!" Hermione cut in after she'd drained the glass of _Sobering_ potion. "A glass...for each of the seven Wonders!" The potion had scarcely had any effect on her!

"That was really unreasonable, Granger; just what got into you?" Draco asked, peering into her eyes.

_Is he trying to hypnotise me?_ Hermione pondered.

"Close your trap, _Malfoy_! I came here to look for" _—well, for Ladon Hydras, and I already found him_—_ "_the _Lover's Heart_, and not to watch you waltz about with this—this multicoloured parrot!" Hermione exclaimed, pointing at Melodia. "She looks like Kiki! No—that would be insulting to Kiki!" Hermione let out a shrill laugh.

"This ungrateful woman is calling me a parrot!" Melodia complained to Draco, who was fighting not to burst out laughing.

"It's a compliment, chica," he asserted. "Sit down, and let us get over with this once and for all. Mrs Hildy, will you please -"

"Oh, Master Draco, you need not ask. I know you wish to discuss some important matters with these lucky girls here," old Hildy said. She started to get up from her seat, but Draco had already reached to her side, courteously drawing back the chair for her, and holding her hand in the process.

"Thank-you, dear," Hildy said demurely. She walked to another table, and Draco regained his seat.

"Granger, I did not bring you here for you to be entertained, or for you to entertain the gallery, which you have, nevertheless, been very good at," Draco said. The men composing that same _gallery _were now sending sympathetic glances towards Hermione, whereas the women sported complacent smiles on their faces.

"Don't talk to me like-" Hermione had started saying, but Draco, once more, put another silencing finger across her lips.

"Will you let me talk, lady?" he urged.

Hermione swallowed. _Well, if he was down to pleading, one might as well listen to him. _

"As I told you," Draco continued, "it would be impossible to find a Wonder without a map, regardless of the robust will you undoubtedly possess. We have to find the old wizard I talked about in _The Passion Serpent_; he has a Papyro Ithicus. However, I sent him to travel with the Gypsy Caravan. He is safer this way, but nobody knows where the Gypsy Caravan is at present. This is where Melodia comes in."

"The parrot is going to help us?" Hermione muttered to herself, but an annoyed Melodia overheard her.

"Princess, will you?" Draco requested, nodding towards Melodia and squeezing her cheek apologetically.

"_Accio _crystal ball!" Melodia directed. A medium sized, shining sphere flew across the pub and landed on the table in front of Melodia.

"Crystal ball! Are you a Seer?" an incredulous Hermione asked.

"Looks like you've finally sobered up!" Melodia exclaimed.

"So alongside being a parrot, you are also a fraud. And here I thought you were going to give us some kind of substantial help instead of some rubbish prophecy! CHARLATAN! CHARLATAN! THIS WOMAN IS A CHARLATAN!" Hermione had suddenly jumped out of her seat, pointing her wand towards Melodia.

"How dare you call me a charlatan?" Melodia bristled, aiming her own wand towards Hermione.

"The hen's feathers have been ruffled?" Hermione derided. _Horror of horror,_ she thought. _Another Sybill Trelawney!_

Draco sighed and lithely sprang up from his seat. "Calm down, girls. Melodia, sit down. Granger, stop acting as if your seat had been transfigured into a sea urchin!" Draco commanded in a firm voice. Both girls regained their seats, eying each other warily, their wands held in front of them in the typical duelling pose.

"She is not a fraud, Granger, and she is not going to make some kind of hazy prophecy. Melodia has the ability to gaze into that crystal ball and reveal the approximate location of the Gypsy Caravan. We'd have to manage with the information she gives us," Draco clarified.

"Approximate! Fine, let us see what she can do!" Hermione conceded imperiously.

Draco winked playfully at Melodia, immediately winning her over.

Melodia focused on the crystal ball, which at once misted up. In no time she opened her mouth to speak, but Draco stopped her, putting an _Inventario Colloquium_ spell around them first. It was a spell he had invented himself, and, different from the Muffliato spell which simply prevented a discussion from being overheard, this particular spell enabled listeners to hear a fake conversation in its place. It was the first time he was actually using it; it wasn't that he did not trust the people assembled in the inn, but the information he was going to get could potentially endanger their lives, should they, in a flash of recklessness, decide to trail him.

"Draco, the Gypsy Caravan is somewhere in the Cardamom Mountains. I'm afraid that's all I can see," Melodia said, addressing herself solely to him and deliberately ignoring Hermione.

"Thank you, love. I owe you one," Draco said. He then removed the _Inventario Colloquium _spell.

"Will you be careful?" Melodia asked him, a distressed look on her face.

"I'll be fine, doll. Now go and have that very important conversation with that brat of yours, will you?"

Draco hugged Melodia, and she kissed his cheek. Melodia looked up to the stage as she walked away, and Lancelot met her gaze. He had ceased playing the piano when Hermione had caused the glasses to crash on the floor, and taken to shouting words at Draco. He had been as dumbfounded as everyone else in the inn had been.

"Why are you so quiet now, hayatim?" Draco asked Hermione, seating himself a bit too close to her.

Hermione did not know what 'hayatim' meant, but from him, it sounded shiveringly exotic. It felt so much like a soothing, loving caress; no wonder women appeared to fall like rain at his feet. She had watched the cosy little exchange between Draco and Melodia, feeling inexplicably angry and exceedingly jealous.

She now looked at Draco, for the first time in the evening, dimly aware that maybe she had drunk a bit too much. Had she been unforgivably rude to Melodia, who had helped them? Had she been taking Draco's help for granted? Why had she allowed herself to drink so much?

"Hey?" Draco inquired softly, raising her chin.

The concern she read in his eyes made her feel strangely vulnerable, so much that she felt absurdly teary.

"I'm just...tired," Hermione sighed, not meeting Draco's eyes. It was the truth. She had been experiencing all kinds of intense emotions ever since she came across him that afternoon. Yes, she felt exhausted... She could hear Draco bidding good night to the pub goers, who seemed particularly disinclined to let him go. He somehow managed to charm them over, and they were soon earnestly entreating him to be vigilant and to come back to them safe and sound.

Hermione suddenly felt as if the ground under her had given way. Her semi-drooping eyelids at once flew open, and she found herself being lifted into Draco's arms. The instant wave of startled gasps and astonished exclamations which undulated across the inn gradually faded away, as if a slow-spreading, ethereal mist were blanketing each and every shout, cry, and whisper. Everything around her, with the exception of him, became an indistinct blur.

She should tell him to put her down; that Draco Malfoy carrying Hermione Granger was something so out of place it couldn't even happen in dreams...But she couldn't. Her mind would not let her; her heart would not let her. What if he agreed to her request? What if she opened her mouth and he disappeared, as if he had never been there in the first place?

Instead, she just smiled at him. His lips did not curve back in an answering one, but his mesmerising eyes did, quickening the pace of her heartbeats to that rapid, sweetly painful...thud...thud...thud...

Hermione's flowing skirt flapped gently as Draco walked with her in his arms down the deserted cobbled street.

The bright, bewitching moonshine and the million twinkling tars in the night sky seemed to be listening to a sensual saxophone being played by this brief moment in eternity. A warm night breeze accompanied the silky tune by its hushed murmurings.

Hermione caught a whiff of Draco's ensorcelling aftershave, and she snuggled closer to that drugging scent of his, sighing contentedly.

**...**

_**Two hours later**_

Hermione woke up in a luxurious room, where a stately fire burned in the hearth. She felt thoroughly disoriented and blinked contemplatively at the unfamiliar surroundings. She was still wearing her white blouse and long skirt, but her boots had been safely tucked away at foot of her canopy bed, and by its side was a pair of snug slippers.

Slipping out from underneath the warm, plush blanket, Hermione padded to the sleek, wooden table which was next to an open window. A lovely candelabra stood on it, illuminating a transparent bowl which contained a fizzy mixture of the leaves of linden, lavender, feverfew, eucalyptus, and chamomile. It was a potion which, when inhaled, stalled both headaches and queasiness. She found her cardigan, which had been carefully folded, with her thin wristwatch lying on top of it, on the table, and at its foot were her two, neatly arranged, travelling bags.

A cool draught swept inside the room, making her shiver. Hermione felt a dark purple stain slowly stealing to her face.

What had gotten into her this evening? Right now all she wanted was for the Earth to open and swallow her up whole! This feeling was not alien to her. In her second year at Hogwarts, she had accidentally used cat hair in Polyjuice Potion, and had undergone a horrible transformation. She had, of course, not joined Harry and Ron, who went on to question Malfoy about the Slytherin heir, disguised as Crabbe and Goyle. Alone in that stall with Moaning Myrtle cackling about how ugly she looked, she had wanted to never come in front of anyone again!

Looking at the bowl of potion, Hermione remembered the mud-removing one Draco had brewed earlier. She had not even thanked him yet! She could not comprehend why she had behaved so shamefully. She had not only made a magnificent fool out of herself, but she had also insulted Melodia! She had not known she was capable of such unflattering deeds; she would have to apologise to both of them!

True, it had been a real shock when she'd learnt that Draco Malfoy was the mysterious Ladon Hydras the whole of wizarding world wanted to know about. It still seemed unreal. She had drained her first glass of mead in the hope it would help her process this momentous information. He had accomplished so much in such little time! Ladon Hydras was believed to be one of the most powerful and intelligent wizard of their age, and he was none other than Draco!

When he had played his violin, she had drained her second glass of mead without even noticing it! The second glass had been followed by a third, a fourth, a fifth... She had been utterly dumbstruck, for she had never known he could play an instrument. Back at Hogwarts, she had never really bothered to know what his hobbies were. In her mind, Draco had been labelled as a mean, shallow bully, who neither she, nor Harry or Ron, were able to completely brush aside.

However, no shallow person could have such absolute mastery over a musical instrument. When he played his violin, it was if his audience had become the strings, and he himself was the bow, pulling at whichever chord he desired in order to make a tune! His music had such profound depth. Had he known how to play when he was a student? He couldn't be the same Draco Malfoy she had known back then, could he? He was such a complete enigma!

The sound of a soft, romantic, slow-beat song interrupted the flow of Hermione's self-recriminating thoughts. She walked to the ornate door, opened it, and peered outside. The music seemed to be coming from further down the corridor, which was lit by a row of antique candle chandeliers; their flickering flames reflected on the polished, hardwood flooring. Various arresting paintings adorned the walls in between the multitude of ebony doors.

Hermione stepped out tentatively and almost died of fright when a ghostly couple came through the opposite wall. They had been entwined around each other, but disengaged themselves on seeing Hermione, bowed politely to her, and once again embraced each other as they blissfully twirled towards where the music came. Hermione had returned their curtsy, and, now extremely curious, followed the Khmer couple.

As she tiptoed down the beautiful hallway, the chandeliers above gradually dimmed by themselves, and when she reached the room in which the couple had disappeared, she was washed by a muted, cool purple light.

A perplexing spectacle met her eyes.

Draco was right in the centre of the room, slow dancing with a little girl, whose legs were wrapped around his waist, and who reminded Hermione of herself, when she had been a four year old. The little girl had tight, bushy curls, and her head rested on Draco's shoulder. Her little hands were endearingly wrapped around his neck. Draco held her fondly to him by both hands.

They danced, eyes closed, and lost in their own world, making Hermione feel all kind of strange, dangerous things again. She might forget everything else, but not sight of this highly attractive, alluring man dancing with a tiny little girl to help her sleep.

The ghostly couple were dancing next to the fireplace, at the other end of the imposing room. Some distance away, another woman was seated at a large table and used her wand to soundlessly rearrange a bulky, disorganised pile of scrolls. She seemed to be in her mid-forties and wore thick glasses.

The song soon drew to an end. Draco turned to the plump, bespectacled woman and said: "Leonora, I'll tuck her in bed." He stopped in his tracks upon seeing Hermione standing in the doorway. Leonora joined his side, giving Hermione a wide, welcoming smile.

"I'll be with you in a moment, Granger," Draco said.

"Okay," Hermione replied, feeling as if she was an intruding stranger amongst them.

"Hello, Miss Granger. It's a real pleasure to meet you. I'm Leonora, Draco's head secretary; I've heard so much about you. I was here when Draco brought you. How are you feeling now?"

"Oh, I'm quite fine, Leonora, thank-you. You can call me Hermione. I hope I haven't been too much of a trouble," Hermione said, mortified.

"No trouble! Of course you'd have fallen asleep, tired, after having trudged in the forests in search of Ladon. He himself brought you to your room, and directed everyone not to disturb you at any cost," Leonora said.

"Where am I?" Hermione enquired, not wanting to think about Draco tucking her in bed, his face hovering a few inches above hers as he did so.

"Ah, sorry, I should have informed you about that first. You are currently in the quarters of the Cambodian branch of _The Passion Serpent._ This place is quite the mansion at night, but in the morning it buzzes with so much activity, you're never quite sure where to give your head! Every night, I have to put a Cleaning and Sorting charm on the mansion!" Leonora chattered away. "Oh, let these things be. Draco told me you'll be going with him to find the Gypsy Caravan?"

"Yes, that's correct," Hermione answered. "That little girl, is she Draco's-"

"No-no-no," Leonora denied, letting out a heavy sigh. "Eliza is my daughter. I had her rather late in life, you know. Eliza's father left us when she was about two."

"Oh, I'm truly sorry-"

"Don't be, Hermione! He didn't die, though I've wished for that to happen a couple of times already. He left us for another woman, you see," Leonora laughed bitterly. "Eliza looks up to Draco as if he is her father. That little girl is so completely in love with him. Whenever Draco is here, she'll never sleep unless he dances with her, like you've just seen!"

There was a tender, loving expression on Leonora's face whenever she spoke of Draco.

"Do you know why Draco has established such a grand empire under the name Ladon Hydras, Leonora?" Hermione asked.

"Because of prejudices, Miss Grang-I mean, Hermione," Leonora paused. "When Eliza's father left us, we were quite on the road, with nowhere to go. I only started working here two years ago, and by that time, Draco, as Ladon, was already tremendously successful. I only know that after the war with Voldemort, Draco was badly injured, and, at that time, he had been staying with Melodia and her father in Kathmandu. I've been told all this by Melodia. I trust you've met her tonight?"

Hermione nodded. She had met her, and thoroughly offended her!

"I know all about that dreadful war. Who hasn't heard of the Boy Who Lived and the Dark Lord? But I was not in England at that time; I have lived in Cambodia all my life. Anyway, after Draco had recuperated –it took him a staggering six months; I never found out how he'd been that badly hurt! - he had gone back to England."

"He had?" Hermione, disbelieving, couldn't stop herself from exclaiming.

"Yes, but he didn't stay long. You see, he had wanted to start his career as a journalist. According to Melodia, he was already as good as he is now, and his manuscripts were fascinating reads, full of insights and analysis."

"What happened, then" Hermione enquired.

"No one accepted him because of his name, you see. He was Draco Malfoy, and after the war, the Malfoys were apparently not seen in a very good light because of their association with the Dark Lord. His writings and manuscripts were refused time and time again by each one of the publicists he had gone to meet," Leonora said. "Some had thrown his writings in wastepaper baskets, without looking through them, whilst he stood in the same room; others had refused to receive him when they'd learn who he was; and those who had bothered to read what he had written had, on purpose, misconstrued what he said."

"It must have been quite upsetting," Hermione conceded.

"To cut a long story short, Draco thought it best to start all over by using a new name. The result is before you today," Leonora finished her narration, a touch of pride lighting up her face.

"What are you ladies talking about?" Draco asked, entering the room.

"Oh, of this and that," Leonora answered smilingly. "It's time I retire for the night." Hermione and Draco bid Leonora goodnight, and there was just the two of them left. The ghostly couple had already vanished behind the fireplace a while ago.

"Are you turning purple, Granger, or is it simply the light which is reflecting off your skin?" Draco teased.

"I think I owe both you and Melodia an apology for the way I behaved this afternoon," Hermione admitted, cringing in embarrassment.

"No need for apologies, Granger. I have had a most entertaining evening, and I think Melodia's inn will receive even more visitors after tonight," Draco said offhandedly, leaning against the large oak table.

She was sure Melodia would not brush off the affront to her persona that easily; hadn't Hermione called her a charlatan?

"I don't drink—I mean I don't usually drink that much," Hermione quickly changed the turn of her sentence, seeing the incredulous sheen in Draco's eyes. "I wanted to thank you for the two potions you brewed today - didn't really get the chance to say that before."

"You're welcome, Granger," Draco said. Hermione struggled not to squirm under his keen scrutiny. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Can you stop saying my name as if it was some kind of dagger you were trying to kill me with?" Draco entreated.

"Ah, you mean back at the pub? Yeah—I—right, okay."

"I think it's natural to have a certain amount of discomfiture between us, given that ours has not been a rosy... friendship. But, since we'd be working together from now on, call me Draco," Draco extended a reconciliatory hand to her, showing no sign at all of the awkwardness he had been talking about!

"I agree, and you can call me Hermione," she offered, taking his hand.

Draco stared at her for what appeared like an eternity, and then slowly shook his head as he held onto her hand. "No," he said cryptically, "you are Granger."

He shortly let go of Hermione's hand and went to open the French windows, which overlooked a terrace with a multitude of potted plants and blossoming flowers. He walked to the balustrade, and looked enquiringly over his shoulders. Hermione, still mulling over what he had said, had stayed behind, but now joined his side.

"What do you think of the claims about the ancient architectural constructions of our world being aligned with the constellations? For instance, claims about the Pyramids of Giza being aligned with Orion, the Sphinx -

"With the Leo constellation; the Angkor Wat Temple with the Draco constellation?" Hermione completed, looking up at the clear night sky. "They are mostly conjectures made by a few Muggles, and also supported by some wizards. The renowned astronomers of the wizarding world have long proved those suppositions to be untrue, though, and that a few of the correlating alignments are mere coincidences."

"I'm not asking about the wizarding world; what do _you_ think, Granger?"

"Well, I think that trying to look for alignments between buildings on Earth and the stars is just an attempt to steep oneself a bit further in the mysterious - to make one feel a part of a grander scheme of things."

"A scheme of things which, according to you, doesn't exist?"

"Correct. Doesn't the great Ladon Hydras think the same?"

"Then, you won't believe it if I say that, tonight, something very special is happening?"

"Special? Isn't tonight just a normal September equinox?"

"No, it isn't; tonight, the constellations are aligning themselves with the crumbling edifices, creating a unique equilibrium, and tipping Phileas's Law of Wizarding Transportation into temporary jeopardy. In other words, portals are opening, Granger." Draco looked at Hermione's frowning face and laughed. _Roguish rake, roguish rake, roguish rake,_ the words echoed in her head.

"You are alluding to Fe's ancient runic theory, aren't you? It says that inscribing certain runes on some stones at strategic locations on Earth, whilst the stars at a particular position in the sky, can create natural portals, which transport you from one country to another; some are even said to create passageways to other planets. But Fe's theory has been largely dismissed. He has never been able to prove it!"

"That's right, Granger. He hasn't," Draco relented. "It's getting late; I think it's time to call it a night."

"Ah, it's true," Hermione agreed, looking at her wristwatch. The thin needles pointed to twelve.

"Good night, Granger."

"Good night," Hermione said. She walked away, looking back several times at his attractive silhouette against the stars, wondering why he had suddenly dismissed her. It did not seem like he himself would budge from where he was any time soon.

"Granger!" Draco suddenly called. Hermione stopped just in time to avoid banging into a white, Indo-Corinthian column that served absolutely no purpose in the room, other than being a decorative piece! _Had she been caught stealing glances of that broad, fine-looking back of his?_

"Ye—yes?" Hermione asked.

"Have you ever ridden an Airavata?" Hermione looked at him, nonplussed. "You know, those three-headed white elephants with-"

"I know what an Airavata is! I—I never-I have just been on Buckbeak once, and twice on a Thestral."

"Good! You'll have the opportunity to hone your animal-riding skills, tomorrow." The crooked, devilish grin on his face made Hermione intensely suspicious.

"What do you mean?"

"Banthoy L'boeun." Draco winked at her. _Ahhh, should she faint?_ "It's khmer for 'slow down'; you'll probably need it."

"Why would I need it?" Hermione enquired, thoroughly puzzled.

Draco ambled to where Hermione was, and lowered his head to whisper in her ear: "Remember, Granger: 'banthoy l'boeun'." With that, he was gone, leaving only a tantalising whiff of that maddening cologne in his wake.


	14. Chapter 13: The Peruvian Sun

**8: 20 A.M., London, England**

The Port of London, with its many wharves, docks, warehouses, piers and berths, was one of the busiest in England. A multitude of cargo ships of all types, ferries, and cruise liners stretched in an endless parade along the lively, commanding River Thames until the North Sea. Sugar and oil refineries, margarine industries, and shipbuilding companies thrived along its banks.

The team of Aurors blended easily with the passengers, crews, engineers, sailors, and the policing authorities swarming about the place. Their Auror wizarding robes had been temporarily discarded so as to avoid attracting attention upon themselves.

They were eight in number as they strode down a bustling quay. Two ancient ships, which did not sail the seas anymore, but functioned as floating museums, were moored side by side as Muggle families clambered onto them. A massive steel chain held in place by short wooden stumps prevented the Muggles from straying over to the murky, forbidding edge of the water. Those who felt curious about the quiet air of mystery hanging over the place, and who, in an unwise move, ventured nearer, were compelled to quickly retrace their steps as the sharp, stinging odour of rotting algae overwhelmed them from out of the blue.

Making sure they were unseen, the Aurors stepped over the bulky chain, hesitated at the edge of the water, and then resumed their walk. They were visibly relieved about not having had to urgently make use of their swimming skills. In front of them what had previously been a narrow expanse of sea, hidden in the gloomy shadow of the two ships, there had at present appeared another imposing quay where witches and wizards hurried in various directions, their unwieldy luggage, charmed with some kind of spell, faithfully tagging along. A few wizards were consulting the timetables showing when their ships were going to leave, and many others clustered about chatting with each other. One could hear mention of _The Passion Serpent_ being made every now and then. Clearly, some of the adventurous ones were planning to embark on the same quest as the Aurors. They were at a disadvantage, though; they did not have the regularly updated information shared by the different Ministries of Magic around the world.

The Aurors climbed onboard an impressive, pearl-white passenger liner which had "The North Atlantic Flying Freighter" written in bright green on it. A papyrus-like, vertical scroll and two quills of flamboyant pink hovered in the air near the ship's rail. The writhing scroll was so long it had fluttered past the rail and hung athwart the length of the ship's shiny hull. Noticing that it was in danger of drenching itself, the scroll hurriedly rolled itself up and once more took to scampering safely across the deck. The Aurors shouted their own names as they passed by the singular, fast-scribbling pair of quills.

Immediately afterwards, they put on their Auror wizarding robes, and the team broke in two. They were presently attracting the fascinated gazes of their fellow passengers, for Aurors were an elite division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the Ministry of Magic. Everyone knew it was extremely difficult to pass the required Qualifying Exams which tested, and stretched, one's intelligence, magical skills, and physical prowess.

"Potter, I think you'd agree we can now go on our separate ways," the tall, dark-skinned wizard said, his head held at a proud angle. "The Peruvian Ministry of Magic has already identified fifty potential sites where "palace-sized" charnel houses are situated: half of them are in the north of the country and the rest in the south. By now, their Aurors must have started the search for the _Peruvian Sun_. I suggest we divide the job; Nott, Greengrass, Turpin, and I can take the North, and you bunch can take the South. There is no need for us to stick together."

"Fine, Zabini. You've just said what I've been thinking," Harry Potter, who had newly been made head of the Auror Office, agreed. The Aurors nodded curtly at each other before parting. A shrill, prolonged whistle sounded. The puffy clouds of steam billowing from the four huge funnels indicated the ship's imminent departure. It also constituted a warning to the passengers that they should leave the deck and retire to the hall inside. A dozen elves, wearing orange bandanas on their heads and white and dark blue sailor uniforms, darted in all directions, waving their red handkerchiefs frantically.

'Go inside! The ship's about to leave! Go inside!" their squeaky voices implored to whoever lingered on the deck. The elves, upon finishing their round, were followed by a bunch of rowdy dwarves dressed as pirates, who pranced about gleefully brandishing their gleaming axes. Regrettably, their joyful countenances sombered when they noticed that no one had stayed behind to greet their newly sharpened blades!

All this was necessary, for the ship travelled at the speed of sound – well, almost. It was so lightning-swift that it was impossible to admire the immense, sparkling waters of the North Atlantic Ocean and its pods of dolphins and whales which the ship, no matter how fast it went, always made sure to never collide into. It skidded to an abrupt halt, its passengers bumping against each other and falling all over the place in the most undignified of ways, whenever the gentle sea creatures happened to be traversing. On the rare occasion of a marine animal being injured by the ship, there were very capable animal Healers onboard who tried their best to remedy the damage done. Among the other delays that had to be foreseen on journeys which entailed crossing oceans, was the eventuality of giant octopuses, about twice the size of the ship, temporarily coming up for a sunbath and thinking that the ship was their plaything.

"What a relief!" Ron Weasley shared, seating himself at a table of four in the spacious dining hall. "This is my first assignment as an Auror, and I thought we were going to have to work alongside those stuck-up Slytherin gits."

"Ex- Slytherin gits, Ron, and Lisa Turpin is a former Ravenclaw," corrected Alicia Spinnet. Alicia had been a very capable Chaser on the Gryffindor team back at Hogwarts, and having dabbled at Quidditch with an English team for a short while, preferred to put her skills to catching dark wizards.

"But they are still gits," Parvati Patil remarked. Parvati, like Alicia, had been part of Dumbledore's Army, and she had fought in the battle against Voldemort. Her sister, Padma Patil, had chosen to work as a Healer.

"I cannot believe those from Slytherin can become Aurors! I suppose it's because those three were part of the reinforcement brought by Slughorn during the war," Ron said to Harry.

"Yeah, they were the only ones from Slytherin who fought against Voldemort, if I'm not wrong," Harry answered. "And they passed the Qualifying Exams without much difficulty."

"I hate them!" Ron asserted. "To think we've had to take those hellish exams, despite having been made Aurors by Kingsley right after You-Know—Voldemort's defeat, just because they protested about being unfairly discriminated against!"

"Couldn't have helped it, Ron," Harry said. "Kingsley had to gain the trust and confidence of the war-torn population. Letting us become Aurors without undertaking the same studies, and undergoing the same rigorous training as the others, might not have sat well with many. He was quite obliged to take back his words."

"Whatever, Harry, but you triumphed against one of the most evil wizard our kind has had to face; it should have counted for something!" Ron pronounced.

"You're not wrong, Ron," Alicia started, "but doing it this way, that is, by qualifying as an Auror in a similar manner as the rest of us, is even better than being _made_ into one. Like this, no one will ever dare say you never had the abilities in the first place, or taunt you about having been unduly favoured!"

Ron remained silent for a while. He had never viewed this issue from the angle Alicia had just touched upon.

"Exactly! Those ex-Slytherins would have made life hell for you if one of your assigned tasks failed, or if something went wrong," Parvati rejoined, and went on to ask: "Speaking of Slytherin, what do you guys think became of Draco Malfoy?"

"Who cares, Parvati?" Ron scoffed, coming out of his reverie. "He could be one of those wizards slyly wandering about Knockturn Alley—like rumour has it—for all I care!"

"Right; I hated him the moment he first called Hermione by that foul word - back when you guys had been in your second year," Alicia added.

Ron turned purple as he recalled the recent fight he and Hermione had had on her birthday. He was regretting every moment of it. Nearly four days had passed since Hermione had left for Cambodia, thereby depriving him of the opportunity to make amends for his shameful behaviour. He had obtained his results about his having passed the Auror Qualifying Exams on that same day, and he had wanted to tell her first. But by the time he had rushed to the railway station, her train had already left...

Hermione had been the one to stand unwaveringly by his side, instilling confidence in him, and believing in him. Without her, he wasn't sure he would have been able to pass his Auror exams. Very bright herself, she had helped him revise and practise, even saying he would make one of the finest Aurors ever when he had felt besieged by doubts! And how had he rewarded her? He was missing her, but he knew she had been badly hurt by him. As soon as she got back, he would make sure to apologise and to never take her for granted again. He was realising just how precious she was to him.

Aware of Ron's unease, Harry changed the subject. "It's only 8:30 A.M. right now, and the ship will be leaving in any minute. It's a pity wizards can no longer Apparate to other countries whenever they feel like it! But I suppose the fact that these International Freighters, such as _The North Atlantic Flying Freighter_, travel so fast make up for us not being able to Apparate. As it is, we'll be reaching Peru in about an hour and a half."

"You are right, Harry," Parvati said. "Only Ministers, or individuals holding special passes, can Apparate across country borders. Of course, this Convention would have been unacceptable if we had been prevented from Apparating to any place once _inside_ a country."

"Nobody would stand the freedom of the wizard kind being curtailed in such a severe fashion!" observed Alicia. "This Convention has many loopholes, though. Its purported intention is to help us, Aurors, catch dark wizards who seek to evade punishment. However, a sufficiently powerful wizard _can_ Apparate to another country if he has enough skill to counter the complex charms put in place at its borders!"

"That would be something awfully tricky, if not impossible, to do, Alicia," Ron said. "My guess is that only someone as skilled as Ladon Hydras could possibly accomplish such a feat."

"Quite a mystery, that man! I wish I could meet him once," Parvati said longingly. "He is the craze of the wizarding world right now, and something tells me he would remain so for a very long time, indeed. Who would have thought the Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World were real, and that we would be going after them one day!"

"Ah, every woman is besotted by him - including me!" Alicia shared, laughing.

"Ladon Hydras wrote that there were two Paryro Ithicuses - one of which is with an old wizard he had met," Harry started to say; he had had enough of women swooning over the mysterious Ladon. "If the second one is truly with the dark wizard who liberated that unknown creature in Egypt, we'd have to be on our guards."

"Very likely it is with him, Harry," Alicia asserted. "If that despicable man has a Paryro Ithicus, it means that right now, he is after the Wonders. We would need to be very careful."

"Correct, Alicia; I've had a look at the mangled remains of those Muggle students, yesterday," Ron avowed, shivering as he remembered the horrifying sight that had met his eyes.

"There is something I cannot figure out, though. Why was another wizard Professor and his family killed in the same fashion shortly after the murder of those archaeology students? And where is the wizard Professor who was with those students?" Parvati Patil wondered aloud.

"Until we find the missing Professor, or his body, we cannot be certain," Harry observed. "It'll be very early in Peru when we'll reach the country." Harry took out his map. Ron, Alicia, and Parvati did the same. Unlike Muggle maps, theirs showed objects and animal life which moved. Schools of piranhas and trout swam in the Amazon River and nearby lakes; Alpacas, which were smaller versions of the Llamas, Chinchillas, and large birds of prey, such as Andean Condors, roamed on the flanks of the Andes Mountain; pythons, crocodiles, and monkeys relaxed, undisturbed in the jungles.

"True," agreed Alicia. "Peru is six hours behind England. Therefore, it is only 2:30 A.M. over there. Add the one hour and a half it'll take by ship, and another hour by the International Land Express, we'll reach there at about 5:00."

"Right, Alicia; this ship will dock at Fortaleza, in Brazil," Harry continued. "From there, we'll be getting off the ship and boarding the International Land Express (South American Division). We'll be crossing through Belém, Cayenne, Paramaribo, Georgetown, Caracas, Bogota, and then we'll reach Peru. You all know the railway tries to avoid passing through the Amazon Basin as much as possible."

"It's true, mate," Ron acknowledged. "Nobody can guess what types of magic and enchantments are at the heart of those dense jungles. We'll be going directly to the South, then. I suppose Zabini, Nott, Greengrass and Turpin would probably get off before us, at Piura."

"I guessed the same," returned Alicia.

"Where do you guys suggest we get off?" Harry asked.

"I think it would be a good idea to get off at Nazca. Out of the twenty-five charnel houses found in the South of Peru, fifteen are located over there, as identified by the Peruvian authorities," Parvati shrewdly pointed out.

They debated for a brief moment before deciding to go along with Parvati's suggestion, and, after that, began chatting animatedly about how they would proceed once they reached Nazca.

**...**

At the other end of the hall, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, and Lisa Turpin were also going over their plans about how to successfully complete their mission. They were _not_ going to lose out to the likes of Potter and Weasley. They had agreed to get off at Piura, and their conversation had currently veered to the contents of _The Passion Serpent_.

"Ladon Hydras would not joke about something like this," Lisa Turpin commented.

"I suppose not," Zabini said. "The idea of a wizard being able to reunite the Seven Wonders is not funny. Fancy yourself becoming a subservient slave upon hearing the Cursed Violin, Nott?"

"I would rather be dead than be anyone's slave," Nott rebuffed hotly.

"That's why it's so important to catch the one who's after those Wonders; but I'm afraid Shacklebolt made a big mistake by sending out Mud-Muggleborn Granger to find Ladon," Daphne Greengrass said with a disdainful expression on her face. "Granger might be brilliant, but she's no match to Ladon."

"If she's no match, then you're an even lesser one," Zabini derided.

"Are you defending that Muggleborn?" an outraged Daphne queried.

"I'm not defending her. It is obvious that without her help, Potter would never have been able to find the Horcruxes and defeat the Dark Lord," Zabini retorted.

"My, my," Daphne mouthed, incredulous over what she was hearing. "I thought you had a crush over that Weasley girl back at Hogwarts, and now you are even taking the side of a Muggleborn! What do you think about this, Nott?"

"None of my business," Nott muttered. He had taken to flicking through the pages of _The Passion Serpent_.

"Don't be ridiculous, Daphne!" Zabini snapped angrily.

"C'mon guys, stop fighting," urged Lisa Turpin. She was seriously having second thoughts about whether she should not have been with the former Gryffindors, instead.

"I sometimes wish Draco Malfoy was around! _He_ wouldn't be one to go all mellow on those Muggleborns!" Daphne said in a reminiscent voice.

"Malfoy is past history," Zabini mocked. "And besides, why did you agree to fight in the battle six years ago, when Slughorn came to plead with us to be part of the reinforcement he had assembled? Shouldn't you have calmly stayed at home and let Voldemort win?"

"I should have, shouldn't I?" Daphne abruptly got up from her seat, glowering at Zabini, before angrily stomping away. She promptly shoved aside a naughty, grinning dwarf, whose red walrus-like moustache reached the ground, and who had been amusing himself by repeatedly jumping in front of her at every fifth step she took.

"Daphne, wait!" Lisa called, running after her friend.

"Do you really think Malfoy is past history?" Nott asked after the girls were gone.

"Positive about it! He was fawned over by most of the girls in Slytherin, and Pansy – even if she's engaged – still gets ridiculously misty-eyed whenever mention is made of him!" Zabini sneered.

"That's what annoys you, then? That the girls liked him? Or rather...that Daphne liked him?" Nott smirked.

"Absolutely not! What annoys me," Zabini declared, "is that he was always boasting about the grand things he had to accomplish, but the greatest feat he managed to do was to disappear without leaving any trace behind!"

**...**

**4: 45 A.M., Nazca Plateau, Peru**

'Dark Creature' was how he called it. There was nothing more fitting. The creature was as dark as the night, about twice the size of a Dementor, with a pair of bulbous eyes, and a body like a bulging black cloak. None of its other physical features were discernible. It didn't have feet, and it glided in the air. The best thing about the creature was that it was his to command. The Defixiones he had unearthed in Egypt contained the words he had needed to say in order to make the creature obey him.

A little while back, he had only had to order "Attack!" to the Creature, and it had thrown itself on the three wizards who had tried to stop him. Judging from the dark blue robes with the distinctive golden stripes they wore, he had been able to determine they were Peruvian Aurors.

As the creature took care of the interfering Aurors, he had then gone on to blast the army of bone-eating scarab beetles off his path, battled with the dancing skeletons and reduced them to ashes, set fire to the giant nest of enraged Acromantulas, and transfigured two vicious Chimaeras into harmless mice; those two bloodthirsty beasts—each one of which had the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and a tail ending in the head of a snake—had turned out to be particularly difficult to deal with.

The brutal attack unleashed upon him as soon as he had stepped into the charnel house had badly wounded him. Indeed, three or four scarab beetles had managed to assail the bones at his ankles, causing him to limp horribly. An Acromantula had poked him harshly in his right ear, and the venomous tail of one of the Chimaeras had bitten him on the thighs. He had had to use the antidote to the poison, which he had thankfully thought to bring with him. It had been foolhardy of him to underestimate the enchantments and creatures that had been guarding the place. There was no way he would succeed in getting another Wonder alive if he did not take the time to nurse his wounds. This was an unexpected setback, but in the end, all had been worthwhile!

He had spent forty long years of his life delving into ancient artefacts, voces mysticae, and wizarding archaeology. And now, he was finally reaping the fruit of a lifetime of work as he stood in the small stone chamber where the _Peruvian Sun_ was located. It had been drifting in a bowl of some kind of brownish liquid. At first, he had been puzzled by the Wonder's appearance. It looked nothing like Ladon Hydras had described; it didn't have the sun's changing colours. However, as he had stepped forward, the _Peruvian Sun_ had slowly shed off the thick layer of dirt that had accumulated on its surface. It had started to shine so brightly that he had had to shield his eyes with his elbow.

The _Sun_ seemed capable of detecting human presence. At present, it slowly soared above the muddy liquid, as if beckoning him to get hold of it and be its master. He nearly gave in to the temptation, but quickly withdrew his hand at the last minute. Ladon's warning echoed in his mind. The _Peruvian Sun_ could not be touched with one's bare hands.

He had thought long and hard about the one behind the distinguished magazine, _The Passion Serpent_. At some point in the future, he would probably be crossing road with that man, and he would kill him if need be! Nobody would be allowed to get in his way! It would be a pity, though. Ladon was a very gifted wizard, but if _he_ had all the Wonders with him, nobody would be more powerful than _him_! He had two victories already: he had gotten hold of the Papyro Ithicus, which he had spent so many years looking for, and, with its help, he had found the _Peruvian Sun_.

He would need to get the _Hermit Mystery_ from the woman Ladon Hydras gave the Wonder to. It could wait, though. The _Icarybus Crystal_ was next on his list. After that, he would go for the _Lovers' heart_, and then he would go to England and find both the _Hermit Mystery_ and the _Cursed Violin_.

Anyone who tried to come in his path would be crushed.

Indeed, upon finding the _Paryro Ithicus_ and freeing the _Dark Creature_, he had gone to show his findings to Septimus, a colleague of his, who had always mocked his obsession with the Seven Wonders. Septimus had been awestruck and shocked, and he had tried to deter him from going to find the Wonders. He had had no choice but to kill Septimus, and his entire family. He had not spared those foolish Muggle students either! Why should anyone think twice about ridding the world of such filth?

**...**

Harry, Ron, Alicia, and Parvati had alighted from the train at the town of Nazca. The charnel houses they had to visit were found in the arid, eighty-kilometre stretch of the Nazca desert, between the town of the same name and the town of Palpa.

Standing in front of their third charnel house of the day, they had been contemplating why each one of those crumbling edifices stood at the junctions of the famous ancient geoglyphs, known as the Nazca lines, without finding any real answers. Ron had been commenting about Disillusionment Charms having been placed on the buildings, when they spotted a bright red spark in the lilac sky; it was a call for help.

The Aurors at once dashed towards the place from where the distress signal had been sent. Pebbles, sand, and dust whirled around their boots as they sprinted as fast as their legs could carry them.

"Damnit! We are late!" Ron exclaimed, and continued to cuss as they laid eyes on the inert bodies of the Peruvian Aurors.

"Wait, I can feel a very faint pulse!" Parvati had gotten down on her knees and was busy examining one of the wizards. "Can you hear me?" she tried talking to the unresponsive man.

Ron and Alicia rushed to the side of the other two wizards and started to check their vital signs.

"He is not dead!" Ron cried out in relief.

"Good lord! This one is alive, too!" Alicia yelled.

Harry held firmly onto his wand as he took slow, measured steps towards the entrance of the prehistoric construction.

"Careful, Harry! The bastard might be inside!" Ron warned.

"He...gone," whispered the man whose head now rested on Parvati's lap. His bronzed skin had acquired a deathly pallor.

"Did you see who he was?" Harry enquired.

"Now is not the time, Harry!" Alicia said, frowning. "The three of them need to be taken to a Healer straight away."

'Yes—he-he... missing on...the poster," the man feebly articulated.

"Were you attacked by the one who went missing: the wizard Professor, Laurence Alcott?" Ron questioned. The Professor who had disappeared was their prime suspect.

"Yesss, _him_..._him_...and-" The man was unable to finish his sentence, for he had fainted.


	15. Chapter 14:Wayfaring on Smouldering Coal

**Chapter 14: Wayfaring on Smouldering Coals**

**Same Day, 15: 00 P.M., Cambodia**

Hermione paced to and fro under an enormous, grafted magnolia tree. It had thick drooping branches and dark-green leaves, laden with pure scintillating white, deep magenta, and pale orange blossoms the size of saucers. The sweet fragrance of the flowers swathed the vast courtyard where sleek horses and ponies lazily trotted, half a dozen giant Galapagos tortoises happily sunbathed, and a mother hen and its thirteen chicks clucked Time away blissfully. There was a swimming-pool sized pond as well, bordered by smooth white pebbles and resplendent flowering shrubs, in which colourful fish performed all kinds of back flicks whilst trying to catch unsuspecting flies. Two stunning pairs of black swans waltzed merrily across the sparkling water.

It was a lively, absorbing spectacle, but Hermione was getting restless.

Indeed, so many things seemed to have happened the last day. After having waded through the forests for two days and a half, she had finally met the Ladon Hydras she had been looking for. To her grand shock, she had found out he was no one else but Draco Malfoy! This day was the fourth one since she had first set upon her mission. Three days remained until the Wizard World Conference. She and Draco had to find the Lovers' Heart within those three days, and she also needed to persuade him to attend the Conference!

Half of the day had already passed by, and there was still no sign of Draco Malfoy!

****...****

Six hours ago, she had woken up with a start, surprised to have fallen in such a profound sleep despite being in unfamiliar surroundings. She had smiled at the warm rays of the sun which had filtered through her wide-open window. Filled with a pleasant buoyancy not unlike the feeling one got when on holidays, she had jumped from her bed and quickly showered. Humming to herself, she had combed through her hair, taking extra care of her appearance; she was going to see Draco and discuss their plans, wasn't she? It had made her remember her nightly habits – uncanny how fate had a way of putting in front of one things one would least expect to happen for real. She had never in the world thought Draco Malfoy would be Ladon Hydras; someone so scarily proficient at all he undertakes. What would the others back at home think?

Her cheerfulness had been tinged with some guilt, for she should have been worried about the Wonders. She had realised (to her great dismay!) that they had not been the first things on her mind.

Upon stepping out of her room, she had asked herself whether she had been in the same place the night before! Hermione had then recalled Leonora's words about the Passion Serpent's quarters being an utter mess in the morning. The older woman had been right; the place had been unrecognisable! About fifty people had been rushing in all directions, carrying scrolls, shouting, and giving Hermione polite, but intensely curious, smiles as they had gone about their own business. Gone was the stately mansion of the night before!

A strange, wobbly figure had been carrying enormous books, tremulously perched on the shoulders, and, incredibly, on the person's head. Inevitably, the flailing figure ended stumbling and disappearing under the heavy load.

"Here, let me help you!" Hermione had hurried to the helpless figure and said: "Mobilibro". At once, the books were neatly rearranged by the person's side.

A harried looking young girl had timidly raised her head and gratefully mumbled: "Thank you! I'm Harriet. You are Miss Granger? Leonora asked me to please tell you to meet her at the Cafe. Right at the end of this corridor, take the staircase which descends to the left and then turns right. Nice to have met you!" Harriet had then abruptly stood up, hurtling in another direction without waiting for any response from Hermione.

Shaking her head in amusement, Hermione had resumed her walk down the corridor. On her way to the cafe, she had passed by the multitude of doors, which had been flung open, with various inscriptions in moving, golden letterings adorning them:

"Writers' & Thinkers' Corner"

"Everyone's thing..."

"Language and Grammar Consultants"

"Always in good spirits (from too much laughing!)"

"Library"

"An extremely noisy one!"

"Wizarding Photography"

"Got a discerning eye? Zoom in!"

"Ancient Artefacts"

"Don't believe in curses? Come in..."

"Unique Fauna and Flora"

"Beware they don't try to pet you!"

"Wizarding Inventions: spells, potions, objects"

"Hop in, creative souls!"

"Events Happening across the World"

"Not all are bad!"

"Current Expeditions"

"Allowed to join if you can climb a tree!"

"Wizarding Law Dept"

"Don't want to be caught? Study the loopholes!"

"Inter-Branch Liaison and Affairs"

"Not what you are thinking!"

"Cafe and Music"

"You are free to linger..."

At the cafe, in front of a generous breakfast, Leonora had explained that Draco was absent, and upon a very disenchanted Hermione asking where he went, she had answered:

"He wouldn't be the mysterious Ladon if he told people where he went...Ah, he is so exasperating sometimes! He's never once let anyone get a whiff of his whereabouts! But don't worry, Hermione; he agreed to take you with him, right? He always keeps his word!"

_Did he really?_ Hermione had wondered sceptically. She wouldn't know; she didn't know him at all! She had once thought she knew him – at least, the conceited, bullish side of him. And he had never really kept his word before! She had recalled the incident when he had challenged Harry to a wizard's duel when they had been in their first year. Harry had been too naive to believe him. He and Ron had gone on to meet the devious little blond boy in the middle of the night. Of course, the astute creature had not shown up! He had wanted to trap Harry and Ron. The eleven-year-old Draco had been a cunning, mischievous child, and then he grew up to be a death eater…

Discarding her sudden recollections, Hermione had then gone on to ask Leonora about Melodia's place and had at once set for the Gypsy Marchiza's Inn. Melodia proved to be an amiable individual who quickly forgave Hermione her drunken antics of the night before. Hermione had been quite shocked to discover what the peculiar thing she had noticed about the sad young man who had played the piano was; Lancelot, by which name Melodia had addressed him, had been a ghost! Last night, she had been unable to make out that the odd-looking man had, all along, been transparent.

Melodia and Lancelot loved each other and, seeing Hermione's sad expression, had hastened to share that all was not lost between them.

Hermione had left Melodia's place feeling dismayed about the two. Love still prevails despite the loss of one's body...

On returning to the quarters she had dispatched an owl to the Ministry of Magic in London, informing them she had found Ladon Hydras.

******...******

Hermione glanced at her watch again. 15: 15 P.M. Where was that infuriating man?

A loud crack interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see Draco Apparating on the front porch and briskly disappearing inside. Hermione hurried after him, but the man seemed bedevilled, ignoring both her and her increasingly shrill calls. He was wearing the same clothes as that of the previous night, with a cape flapping majestically in his wake. What alarmed her most was the bloodied arm he clutched.

He made his way across a deserted area of the quarters, with its many winding corridors, and was soon swiftly climbing a set of spiral stairs. Hermione started to run, but somebody caught one of her arms.

"Hermione, don't go after him. This area is restricted from access," Leonora warned. The older woman glanced worriedly at the trail of tiny crimson droplets haphazardly sprinkled on the polished flooring. "No one goes in there without his permission, you see. I haven't been there even once."

"But Draco is injured!" Hermione retorted impatiently, as she freed herself of Leonora's staying hand and ran to the stairs. She heeded none of the resulting shouts from the woman, urging her not to follow the handsome man, who seemed to be in a dangerous mood. Hermione's trespass would not be seen in a favourable light, Leonora cautioned as she remained behind.

The entire floor upstairs was one beautiful, immense room. In between stone walls, large floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto the glimmering waters of a lake ensconced in a dense forest. As she stepped over the threshold, she believed she understood the meaning of an area being closed from access – unquestionably forbidden would be a more fitting expression, though. The owner of this space, without doubt, relished his freedom and most probably hated anything which might chain him to a place.

His room had this intensely masculine feel about it, which drew her on against her will. At every step she took, her mind advised her to go back, but her heart blithely raced forward. The lingering scent of that alluringly unsettling cologne of the night before, the muted dark-blue and black shades of the walls, the wind toying with the stark white transparent curtains, the subdued light from the chandeliers and sconces, and the seductive music playing from somewhere, were as if scheming to precipitate her to a dangerously enticing doom.

This floor was partitioned into about half a dozen wide spaces by soothing indoor waterfalls. Hermione felt a strange prick in her heart as she beheld beautiful candles burning brightly as they danced underneath the water cascades. Ah, why, why, was she feeling so peculiar all of a sudden?

The candles had a water-proof spell cast on them; what was the big deal about that? Looking at them made her feel as if she was being skewered by an unknown something…There was absolutely no reason for her to feel transfixed, nor to develop beads of sweat on her forehead. Nonetheless, there she stood, feeling as if a shadowy force was pulling at her whole being.

Hermione snatched her attention away from the cascades. Immediately, she became intrigued by bulky, rainbow-coloured drapes, which seemed to be covering paintings of some kind. The dyes were so vibrant and pulsating with energy, she could almost believe real rainbows had been captured and mercilessly splashed across the fabric. The drapes fluttered in a lively manner, summoning the onlooker to unveil them and behold what was hidden underneath.

Hermione could not resist. She walked to the cloaked drawings and was on the point of lifting one of the veils when a strong, disapproving hand caught hold of her wrist. Draco had not even had time to don the small silver buttons of his thin, pale blue shirt; it hung open, showing a sculptured chest with a fine sprinkling of water droplets from his recent shower. The ornate silver belt buckle at his waist was yet unsecured over his black jeans. Hermione's throat felt parched in an instant; the air seemed to have acquired the same electrifying feel as that before a lightning storm.

"Where's the fire, Granger? The expression 'no business of yours', still can't figure out what it means?" A mocking light danced down the depth of his eyes. "Your wrist bones seem very fragile to me." He lightly traced the said bones with a languor suggesting he had eternity in front of him…"Do you know how easily they can get twisted?"

Draco's unruffled, dispassionate voice brought Hermione back to Earth. For a strange interlude, she had felt as if she had been surveying things from a distance. The jibe made Hermione tense and not a little annoyed. She hoped he could only feel the bones, and not the demented pulse underneath.

"Are you threatening me?" Hermione asked in an as spiteful a tone as she could muster.

"No," he coolly denied. "But, you see, I tend not to appreciate it when strangers wander in my private quarters without express invitation. And should you be tempted to unveil these drawings again, I have to warn you they have a Bone-Snapping Curse on them. So…," he drawled insolently, "feel free if you still want to have a look."

"Oh, I didn't know," Hermione said, stumped. She was hardly a stranger… but it was true she had been intruding. "Um, I wasn't here to pry into your affairs. I—your right sleeve was stained with blood. You are injured; what happened?" Hermione anxiously inquired, her gaze travelling past the hand still firmly holding her own to the forearm which, though roughly bandaged, grew steadily bloodier.

At this observation of Hermione's, Draco let go of her wrist and slickly pulled down the shirt sleeve which had been previously rolled up. Hermione surprised herself with the acute disappointment she felt at his not allowing her a look at his wound.

_Well, let him be! I could have made an excellent healing potion! It is his loss,_ Hermione thought, vexed at his silent rebuff.

"It's funny; now that I recollect, when that Hippogriff wounded my arm at Hogwarts, I saw a glimpse of the same worry I am currently seeing on your face…You were the one who had the presence of mind to open the gate to let us walk past.

"It intrigues me. Why should you have cared then, and why do you seem so concerned now?"

"There's nothing surprising about it! I'd be worried about anyone who sustained such an injury," Hermione said, nodding towards the crimson dressing.

"Even that of an arch enemy?" Draco remarked, his fine eyebrows arching scornfully.

"You were not the arch enemy; Voldemort was," Hermione kind-heartedly returned. Uttering Voldemort's name seemed to have been a mistake, for the airy darkness in him resurfaced.

"Not even the arch enemy," Draco scoffed to himself.

"You couldn't have noticed my worrying about Buckbeak hurting you. You had been busy writhing in pain!" Hermione ploughed on, not having heard his comment, in a tone which made it clear she did not think he had been in any real agony. This had been an attempt of hers to try dispersing the hint of a bubbling storm she could sense in him.

However, no storm came…

The music playing in the background reached to an exquisite part; the tune drawn out from a hopeful, yet forlorn, electric guitar and an intermittent, faraway piano seemed to be softly describing a story. A particularly strong gust rushed inside, sweeping along Hermione's imagination.

She suddenly found herself in a corridor, running, shouting numerous spells, swishing and flicking her normally obedient wand, but she could not retain him. Why couldn't he turn so that she could see who he was? Why wasn't he slowing down? Why wasn't he hearing her increasingly desperate cries? The heavy robes she wore were getting in her legs, impeding her progress. Her spells were bouncing in different directions, and not hitting their intended aim: him - that imperious person in the distance, dressed entirely in black, enveloped in a shimmery mist the colour of a dusky sunset, whose determined stride led further and further from her...

A cool vapour touched her face. The vision was gone. Hermione failed to suppress the sigh of relief which escaped her. What had that been? For some unfathomable reason, she felt incredibly pleased Draco stood right in front of her! The misgivings brought about by the short-lived vision instantly dissolved.

"Get your bags, and wait for me in the yard," were the only words Draco said as he readily fastened the gleaming buckle; a place where Hermione had determinedly averted her eyes from, for fear of breaking into an embarrassing cold sweat! Hermione would have liked to express her acquiescence at his suggestion, but she felt incapable of uttering a word. Her chocolate-brown eyes were mesmerized by his piercing gaze.

Time seemed to arrest into a slow…slow trickle right before them.

A half-formed smirk flickered on Draco's face. "You wish to find the Wonders, Granger, or go home to your mama?"

She wanted to scowl and fight, but it would be ill-advised to do so right in the Dragon's den! And that bewitching music was forcing her to altogether freeze, melt, and drown…It was impossible to think clearly, let alone use a wand against the charmingly profane master of this dwelling.

"Oh–yes, of course I want to find the Wonders! Er, see you downstairs." Hermione rushed out of his room, but not before throwing a glowering look at him, which perfectly conveyed what she thought of his proposition.

_Phew. If that isn't some dark mood, what is?_ she thought to herself. It was his dark mood, coupled with the music, which must have dragged her to experience that baffling hallucination, or whatever it had been. It would be laughable if she were to commence considering herself a Seer after this incident!

******...******

Airavatas

An hour later, they were both careering through the dense Cambodian jungles on the back of mammoth Airavatas. These were enormous white elephants with three huge heads. Hermione, gritting her teeth and barely managing from falling off, was seated behind a bare-chested mahout, who wore a thick brown wrap around his waist and a yellow turban. He was the one guided the thundering quadruped.

"Banthoy L'boeun! Banthoy L'boeun!" Hermione kept urging frantically in the futile hope the massive animal would slow down. She could swear the elephant was galloping faster than a cheetah, causing the surrounding trees to morph into an indistinct green blur. The mahout kept throwing incredulous looks at her, for, according to him, they were going at a snail's pace. The poor animal was in a hurry to catch up with his friends, but the young English lady was proving to be a real scaredy-cat!

_So that was what the arrogant Lothario had alluded to last night. Curse him for not having been explicit about what travelling on an Airavata entailed, especially in light of what had very nearly happened moments earlier,_ Hermione ruminated accusingly.

Draco, accompanied and ogled by a bunch of obsequious witches, had already passed by her about half an hour ago. She had wanted to twist their necks when they had burst into laughter on seeing how tightly she clutched the sides of her saddle. The princely, blond wizard had been all at his ease on one of the colossal white goliaths, passionately conversing and flirting with the other girls, who each had their own elephants. Not one of them had required the assistance of a mahout. They were now almost out of sight. Hermione had insisted she could manage without one, but she had been mortified to acknowledge this was not the case when she had very nearly gotten herself crushed.

Draco had intervened at the right moment to prevent such a grim calamity, carelessly brushing off Hermione's breathless demonstration of gratitude with a curt, "I don't want to be put off tomato sauce for the rest of my life, Granger. You would want to be more careful; next time I won't be around."

Well, fine! If he was so interested in not being around, he could stay far from her! She didn't need his obnoxious, holier-than-thou self to boss about! She hated him. She truly did. Why were these tears sprouting from her eyes – as if they had a mind of their own? She didn't feel like crying at all!

**...**

When they had first reached the elephant's camp, Hermione had been keen on enquiring about the conditions in which the animals were entertained. Foremost in her lengthy list of concerns regarding the welfare of the magical creatures had been the need to ascertain no type of hooks were being used on the creatures with the aim of controlling them- as was, sadly, common practice among Muggles. She equally wanted to make sure baby calves were not being separated from their mothers in order to be subjected to cruel training methods.

Whilst she had been thus nobly engaged in questioning the six mahouts present, Draco had been busy distracting her attention by attracting the beautiful females about the place to him, like the sprightly Casanova he was. She had had to turn well away from him so as not to be side-tracked by snippets of cheeky exchanges she could hear.

Once reassured the creatures were always handled with the gentlest of care, Hermione had happily let the mahouts - who were people born to wizard parents, but themselves possessing no magical abilities: Squibs, as they were called in the Wizarding World - go about taking care of the animals, unhindered. The Airavatas - expeditiously equipped with cushions for the riders' comfort and with the riders' luggage properly strapped to their sides - had been standing ready to travel. Upon seeing the gang of chatty girls gracefully levering themselves onto their respective mounts, and anxious to show she was not less capable than them, Hermione had promptly refused the mahouts' help. Hadn't she been wearing trousers whereas the other girls wore long skirts? She should be able accomplish such a little task with ease!

Sadly, that had not turned out quite as she had fancied it would. When she had made a move towards her designated ride, Draco had sharply interposed himself between her and the creature, asking her to wait until he could assist her, for an emissary had come to deliver a pressing message to him. He had then retired some distance away so as become acquainted with the contents of a scroll handed down to him.

Why Draco had brusquely prevented her from getting atop the Airavata was something she understood too late. None of the mahouts had been watching her, eager as they had been not to be pestered by pointless questions. It had been inconceivable to them to be accused of mishandling the giant beings – although Hermione had not brandished any accusation, to them it had been as good as! – since these creatures knew perfectly well how to defend themselves should the need arise. Besides, when the young lady had as accomplished a rider as Ladon Hydras by her side, the mahouts had nothing to be concerned about.

Seizing the opportunity, Hermione had very cautiously started to approach the Airavata. It had struck her as strange that as soon as she had neared the creature, it began to fidget nervously, its three heads repeatedly jerking up and down. She had failed to recognise such a gesture as being a warning sign. "Move away!" shrill female voices had yelped. But Hermione had already gotten a fraction too close; the gigantic elephant had reared on its hind legs, its front legs threatening to crush her at any given moment, all the while blasting off an ear-splitting trumpet.

Swinging its head sideways, the Airavata had been about an inch short before its long, sword-like tusks viciously speared through Hermione's body - if it had not been for Draco, quicker than lightning, interceding by pushing her out of the way. Flat on the ground, a stupefied Hermione had watched as Draco had put both of his hands on the Airavata, patting and soothing it quietly with words she could not hear. The animal had instantly calmed down, using its trunks to enfold him in a fond hug.

Hermione had not had the slightest opportunity to bid her frantic heartbeats to slow down from her fright when the devilish prince not only promptly helped her onto her feet, but swiftly drew her close to the animal in question. The Airavata's three pairs of guiltless eyes had then looked at her in a warm, beseeching manner, and it had executed the same manoeuvre it had done with Draco; it had proceeded to lift her up in a heartfelt hug.

A queer, slightly disorienting feeling had besieged Hermione.

At one moment, she had been terrified as she had never been before, and the next, she was surrounded by a puzzling warmth - one which banished her terror as easily as if a wand had been used to accomplish such a deed - coming from her near assailant. She had looked at Draco, smiling and wanting to share her astonishment with him, but the penetratingly dark and censorious mien of his had sealed her lips straightaway!

The mahouts, who had all witnessed the near mishap with indubitable horror, had rushed over to them. Through their supplicant tones, Hermione had known they had been apologising. Draco had exchanged a few words with them, and though this had not been done in an accusatory manner, the little he had been saying appeared to have a profound effect on them. They had seemed more affected by Draco having very nearly impaled himself than by being actually reproached of negligence.

"I thought I could have climbed up the Airavata by myself. I was wrong; they are not to be blamed," Hermione had proffered on the mahouts' behalf, but Draco had not been listening to her.

Turning to her side, he had smoothly helped her sit astride the Airavata. A mahout had climbed in front of her. She had felt somewhat disappointed, for she had been thinking, in view of what had just happened, he would have gotten on the same ride as her. She shouldn't have been pushing her luck too far. This was Draco Malfoy, the once loathsome tormentor back at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - not her appointed protector! Still, he had saved her, and she had been grateful for his timely intervention! It was then that she had proceeded to thank him profusely and been dismissed with the above offhand answer.

When Draco had walked away, she had noticed, to her immense regret, the shredded bloodied sleeve hanging limply across his bandaged forearm. It seemed as if the wound he had sustained earlier had split open by coming into contact with the tip of the Airavata's tusks. Another blood trail, wider than that first one, had followed in his wake. Each red droplet staining the soil had made her, quite inexplicably, progressively angrier.

Certainly, she had not been accustomed to seeing people bleed without trying to assuage their pain. After the war with Voldemort, she had been amongst those who had volunteered to work with the Healers in order to alleviate their work load. Her potion brewing skills and her infinite patience had made her a much sought-after assistance, in view of the large number of those wounded in the battle.

Draco had not only outright snubbed her attempt to examine his injury back at the Passion Serpent's quarters (she was skilled enough to have it instantly patched up; she could have done much better now than fixing Murtlap Essence, as she had prepared for Harry when he had had words cut into his skin by the vile Umbrigde), but her rashness had been the cause the wound worsened!

She had hated not being allowed to do anything to help soothe his injury. But this accounted merely for part of the fury she had been feeling.

For sure, a distressed-looking, beautiful bohemian witch had torn off a piece of cloth out of her skirt, beckoning Draco towards her. The damned Slytherin Serpent had gladly offered his right forearm to the girl, who had then proceeded to tightly wrap up the wound, making Hermione positively peeved.

**...**

These were tears falling for reasons mostly unbeknownst to Hermione. She knew however it was in part because of the anger she felt towards herself. She was angry for letting that man get to her.

However, Hermione was greatly puzzled; she was far from being clueless where feelings were concerned. In fact, she was exceptionally perceptive, and this same pronounced ability for empathising with both humans and other creatures was what made her a staunch advocate of their welfare and rights. She could tell the thoughts occupying the minds of her closed ones, and accurately anticipate their reactions. She could tell when Ron was annoyed; Harry bitterly missed his godfather; Mrs Weasley felt like retreating to her room to shed a few tears over Fred, without these people ever needing to utter a word. But what was happening to her?

There were no books on emotions and feelings, and she could feel as if she was gradually losing herself in an intricate labyrinth, whose exit was not what had to be discovered, but whose way out was absent altogether.

**...**

The flaming orb in the sky was rapidly nearing the western horizon, impatient to embrace Night's dark cloak, and shield itself from the eyes of those living in the eastern part of the world. The indolent warmth of its rays abruptly waned, giving way to frigid shadows, as the elephants finally came to a halt at the base of a ragged mountain range, which harboured numerous knobby ruby-tinted peaks. A gloomy, deserted mansion stood on an adjacent lone hill, reminiscent of a larger version of the Shrieking Shack to Hermione.

The talented witch glanced at her wristwatch. It was 17: 00 P.M. Those of the Wizarding world usually kept pocket watches, but Muggleborn as she was, she still preferred wearing the gift her mother had presented to her on her eleventh birthday. Trust her to be sentimental about her possessions, especially when that object happened to be a link between the Muggle world and the Wizarding world. It was unwise to forget what being a Muggle felt like, for that's what she had been before receiving the admission letter from Hogwarts… Wizard-kind must strive not to perpetuate skewed views about their alleged supremacy over all other living beings.

If the journey atop the Airavata had been challenging, it had at least given her the freedom of freely letting her emotions flow. She was indeed coming to a faint understanding…

Draco Malfoy did not matter to her.

Her tears of hurt and anger could be explained off as simply being initiated by the newness of the situation. This was the cruel, yet different Draco Malfoy. He was Ladon Hydras, an amazingly skilled wizard. He was not mistreating her or calling her names, but so far, he had been polite to her, even saving her earlier in the day. It was strange because something like this would have been unthinkable years ago, but today, it was reality. The person, who had hated what she was, was himself so changed as to seem to have some kind of upper hand because of that transformation.

He did not really fit in the scenario of six years ago. The fact that she knew what he had been like and who he seemed to be now was upsetting her bearings. But why was it upsetting her feelings as well? It made no sense! Simply because the Draco Malfoy of the present, as opposed to the Draco Malfoy of years ago, was a bit more considerate towards her should not warrant such a disproportionate reaction on her part.

Why is it that when someone who has been nothing short of awful towards one and when that person seems to change overnight (six years couldn't be termed as overnight, but that was how it felt, nevertheless!), one tends to give so much more importance to him? Why is it that one begins wondering about him more; why does one pay more attention to what he does, what he says, to the way he ruffles his blond hair, to the twinkle in his eyes, to the dimples on his face…? Why do one's eyes follow each of his moves? Why does the smallest kind word from him touch one more than anything else?

And why does his subsequent anger or slight upset a person like nothing else could?

There was one cure to this. Now that Hermione was starting to understand what was afflicting her, she resolved not to give importance to the man. This was a normal assignment. She would be objective, focused, get her task done as fast as she can, and she would go back to her life, to what was known to her.

Hermione readied herself to be helped off the Airavata by the mahout. A dashing Draco beat the man to it. He had been standing with the girls at the other end of the track. They must have arrived quite a while ago. Hermione had not bothered glancing in his direction, for fear of causing another inexplicable, chaotic upheaval inside her.

Half of her mission had been to find Ladon Hydras; she had successfully managed to do that. The other half consisted in locating the Lovers' Heart – not of mislaying her sanity bit by bit.

Draco hauled her to her feet, as if she weighed nothing more than a light basket of flowers. However roughly he had previously shoved her immobile figure out of the way of the Airavata's tusks, he had helped her down with as much infinite care as one would do when handling a brittle rose...

The eerie sort of equanimity which had settled inside of her crumbled in an almost audible 'poof!'. Damn. Well, it would probably not be easy…

The Airavatas, reunited, gaily stomped away.

"Has it rained on your way here?" Draco asked, lifting his eyes from her face and scrutinising the heavens.

It was Hermione's turn to raise her head skywards. "No. Why are you asking? Would it be problematic to find the Gypsy Caravan were it to rain?"

"Not really," he said, the hint of a smile on his face. Hermione thanked all the good forces inhabiting the Universe; the bumpy journey had caused him to lose his grim mood! She was not sure she could put up with him ignoring her any longer. Wait, she had newly resolved not to attribute importance to him, hadn't she?

"That must be a dew drop then?"

"What is?"

"The glowing droplet of water on your face…"

"Oh, I—" Hermione, mortified, flushed a deep violet. She was certain she had properly wiped her face. She raised her hands to eradicate the betraying remain of her earlier bout of wretchedness. "Yea, how could I forget? It did rain about ten minutes ago, at the foothills of the Cardamoms. Looks like it is going to rain here, too!"

"Wait," Draco urged, catching her hand. Drawing out his wand, he pointed it to Hermione's left cheek. "You can breathe out; it is not going to be Densaugeo," he quipped. Both he and Hermione had remembered the clash Draco had had with Harry in their fourth year, with their spells misfiring and hitting Hermione and Goyle, instead.

He must be using a non-verbal spell, Hermione thought, forgetting her acute discomfiture, and now intensely curious. A short second later, Hermione felt a warm trickle slide down her face, shortly spiralling in the air before her. The emerald-coloured droplet first inflated into the size of an apple and developed translucent golden wings similar to a Snitch, but the transformation did not stop there. Little orange legs added themselves to the puffy form, and last, the fleecy head of a Moustached Barbet emerged, making the most droll of faces at Hermione, who could do nothing else, but break out laughing. Before she actually cracked a rib, the endearing feathery clown unhurriedly disintegrated into petals of a vibrant yellow, settling lazily upon her shoulders.

"Mademoiselle, votre belle sourire m'honore, mais vos larmes ont le pouvoir de m'arracher le coeur. Alors, n'aller plus jamais gaspillez les perles de vos yeux si magnifiques…" Draco's French was perfect.

"Mademoiselle" meant "miss". Other than this word, she was at a loss to understand what he had said in so solemn a tone, making her heart flutter at a dizzying speed.

"What—what did you say? I have been to France twice, but my French isn't that good!" Hermione laughed off.

"I was inquiring whether you hurt yourself earlier. I had no choice but to push you out of the way."

"Oh, I'm fine! If you hadn't done that, at this moment I wouldn't have been of this world," Hermione answered in earnest. "But I don't understand why the Airavata reacted in this way. I didn't do any brusque movement—oh wait, merlin! I had taken out my wand as a precaution! How could I forget? Their ancestors had been badly tortured by wizards…this terror of wands is in their blood!"

"Exactly. Airavatas are extremely affectionate creatures, but they hate the very sight of wands. They won't kill anyone because of it, but what for them constitutes a slight warning can cause bodily harm."

"I know. It was reckless on my part," Hermione hung her head in regret.

"Not entirely your fault. I should have reminded you not to take out your wand. When you did, neither I, nor the mahouts had been watching. But no harm's done. Let's move, Granger," Draco dismissed negligently, and turning to the bunch of girls, who had been watching the bird's exquisite little display with as much delight as Hermione, droned, "Okay! Mes jolies demoiselles, should we go? Mr Driver won't be pleased if we are late."

The pleasure of having been called "mes jolies demoiselles" was short-lived, for mention of that peculiar personage caused a collective shiver to flit amidst their rank. The devilish prince only laughed, having received the reaction he had expected from the girls.

Was it unkind on Hermione's part to half suspect he had transfigured the tear drop into the lovely bird to entertain the fawning ladies? Ah, enough! She should stop obsessing over him; he clearly didn't. She was thankful he had bought the lie about it having rained. How could she possibly have explained what she herself was at pains to understand!

_Was Mr Driver the person who would be taking them half-way over the inaccessible parts of the mountains?_ Hermione wondered as she walked a short distance behind the flamboyant cavalry in front.

**...**

The Scary Mansion

It didn't cross Hermione's mind they would be traversing the dilapidated mansion. When they had been on their way to the Airavatas' campground, Draco had explained that to find the Gypsy Caravan, they would need to use the help of the giant white elephants, followed by a peculiar bus trip. Upon Hermione asking him about the bus trip, he had merely replied it was going to be something she would like to discover herself. He had piqued her curiosity by further adding that if she believed in some kind of divine power, she better start remembering some shielding mantras.

"Spells will be of no effect whatsoever…"

Unsettling piano music was being played in the middle of what must have once been a magnificent ball room, though Hermione could not make out anyone actually depressing the keys of the eye-catching instrument. It was the sole object in the hall which appeared untouched by the passing of years. Its ebony surface gleamed, albeit little light fell on it.

Old family portraits were haphazardly strewn all over broken tiles. Every person depicted in the pictures were either crying, sniffling, or dabbing at their eyes with yellowing handkerchiefs. Tall fat floating candles, with small hills of melted wax amassed underneath them, illuminated the narrow stretch which visitors were allowed to take.

Every inch of the place rung of intense loss, and despair.

The girl who had previously torn a piece of her skirt for Draco slowed down, resuming her march when Hermione was next to her.

"Depressing place, isn't it?" she remarked.

"Yes, it is. What is its history?" Hermione repressed a shiver.

"Tragic. You wouldn't want to know the grim details. Ah, where are my manners! I'm Sarah."

"That's all right. I'm Hermione."

"You're in search of the Gypsy Caravan, I hear? They are quite elusive. One moment they are in France, the next, they could be in Romania. Always travelling."

"Oh, is that so? I hope we are able to find them quickly enough!"

"Forgive me for asking, how did you convince Ladon to help you out? _In person,_ at that! I mean, he does not normally allocate his time to just anyone!"

Hermione did not appreciate the condescending tone of Sarah's last sentence. "Maybe I'm not _just anyone_ to him? Or did you not think he might have business of his own to attend to?" she replied, irked.

"That must be it – he must have some business with the Gypsy Caravan. Can't imagine what he'll be doing with someone foolish enough to take out a wand in front of an Airavata!" With this patronising comment, Sarah regained her place at Draco's arm, throwing a self-satisfied sneer over her shoulder at Hermione.

If the atmosphere of the place was not so dispiritingly gloomy, Hermione would have laughed out loud; the girl's childish display of jealousy warranted nothing less. What's more, Hermione had already resolved not to let herself be affected by the very handsome ex-Slytherin. Yet, if she were entirely true to herself, alongside laughing at the girl, she would have liked to deprive her of some of her front teeth as well. The smug expression on Sarah's face would have been worth seeing then! The image conjured up by the eventuality of such an occurrence made Hermione actually let out some poorly stifled chuckles, which stopped only when Draco threw a brief glance in her direction.

The fleeting glint in his eyes reminded her of the polished perfection of the piano. His eyes contained amusement, as if he had somehow caught up with the comical scene which had skimmed through Hermione's mind...

The ex-Gryffindor girl crossed her hands over her chest, walking as if she were not in a haunted mansion, but back to insouciantly strolling down one of Hogwarts' corridors.

Would she be coming across fellow first years Harry and Ron hurrying to Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class? Would a benign Professor Dumbledore send a warm smile her way? Would Professor Snape amble past, his dark cloak trailing behind, and a snooty expression on his face? Would fun-loving pranksters Fred and George throw an exploding invention of theirs in the passageway and be chased away by Filch and his cat?

Would she be the earliest girl in class, the way she had once been in her first year – she hadn't been friends with either Harry or Ron yet then – and find that first-year Draco Malfoy also found himself oddly the earliest boy in class? She remembered how she had tried smiling at him – unfamiliar still had been to her both considerations of blood in the Wizarding world, and how apart Slytherin House usually kept itself from the others.

A very young Draco had gazed upon her own very young, naive self with a puzzled air, but Hermione felt he might have returned her timid greeting if at that time, a steady stream of loud first-years had not burst into the class, causing him to start and stare resolutely away from her. He had later volubly berated Crabbe and Goyle for lingering too long over breakfast.

Hermione smiled to herself, feeling that sudden exultation which sometimes took hold of the human heart; the feeling when everything, though tinged with a queer sadness, felt right, and the heart squeezed with a mysterious elation.

The narrow stretch could not accommodate all of them; saying so, Draco ably disentangled himself from the girls, who were clamouring otherwise.

He fell in step behind with Hermione.

In that faintly lit, forsaken hallway, no attempt at conversation was made. They just walked on side by side...

Never once did Draco look at her. Stealing glances at his arresting profile, Hermione noticed him slightly smiling to himself. Could he have been aware of her stealthy peeks at him? She immediately looked away. What right did he have to be that good-looking? So tall, with his shirt clingingly amorously to his lean, sinewy body. The light from the candles reflected off the silver buttons of his shirt and the twin dragon belt buckle creating the illusion fire burned inside them.

Her heart thrummed louder. She noticed the alteration in her breathing – it had considerably quickened. A faint, intermittent spasm coursed through Hermione's fingers, as if urging her to brush her hand against his…

**...**

The Haunted Bus

The short journey through the abandoned mansion ended. Once outside, a stream of golden dust, ignited by the embers of the dying day, hastened to envelope the troupe with its flimsy fabric. Trekking a short way up the dusty red track, they came to stand next to a neon- pink signpost with maroon letters which read:

"Haunted glens, murderous ravines

Sinister terrains concealed by lichens and vines

Aye, places where magical wands cannot reach

For their ancient enchantments few can breach

To us, no secrets hide

Ever since by their sacred laws, we faithfully abide"

_- Black-Eyed Travels Ltd_

A grim-looking elf was perched atop the column. It wore a set of green overalls and bore a badge showing: 'Agent Alfrid of Black-Eyed Travels Ltd. How can I help you?'

Before anyone could greet him, the elf spoke to them, an ominous ring to his squeaky voice:

"Where do you go, ladies, accompanied by this handsome stranger? His eyes are mysterious; his ways, no doubt, dangerous. Do not go trusting his words, for they are certain to be deceitful! Don't you know? After the sun is set, the full moon of yesternight will start to wane. And on nights such as these, dark seducers croon words they mean not. Be warned!"

"Why, Alfrid, I missed you, too," Draco said. "Always so courteous. How is Gabriella? Do convey my compliments to her!"

"Don't talk of her, you treacherous philanderer. Faithless lovers of yonder, because of whom virtuous maidens the likes of Lorelei drowned themselves, are your mirror image!"

"Let's see. I suggest _Wizarding Lore's Gothic Poetry_ after you've finished your _Tales of German Legends_. It would definitely add more pathos to your musings!" Draco answered, greatly amused.

"I would have a look into that, thank-you," the elf gruffly capitulated, scampering off the post. "Now if you permit, I must bid these ladies goodbye. And you, sir, may you be disfigured!"

"The sentiment is reciprocated, snappy fellow," Draco returned, a dark smirk on his face.

"Goodbye, Alfrid," bade Hermione and the rest of the girls in unison.

Hermione was astonished, but also somewhat pleased. There were few elves who dared talk to wizards in that bold a manner. Kreacher was quite the exception. Alfrid was an 'agent', which therefore meant his was a remunerated job.

"Being the sole bus company operating in this region, customer service training is not high on their agenda!" the girl named Sarah haughtily remarked.

"Although he is now newly married, ever since his first wife ran off with a younger elf, he is still wary of handsome males; it doesn't matter whether these are men, elves or centaurs!" another girl intimated.

"You flatter me, Laure," Draco said airily, distracted by something. He glanced at his pocket watch. "Alfrid's leaving means the bus shouldn't be very far. I'll go check." He marched towards the Rumdul tree standing at a junction about twenty metres from them. The tree was in full bloom. Interwoven with clusters of purplish fruits were white-yellow flowers wafting their sweet fragrance particularly distinct in the late afternoon.

The girls followed Draco's progress closely until he shortly Disapparated.

Hermione's insides experienced a startling lurch. _Aargh! That was completely unbidden, _she thought in exasperation. Her mind had not had time to process anything, and her body had reacted all on its own!

A strange mood settled over most of the girls; their former chirpiness evanesced.

"I won't travel in this bus, if I could help it," someone said.

"Neither would I, if Draco were not covering some distance with us!" another one added.

"Is there anything unusual or wrong with this bus?" Hermione was unable to prevent herself from asking. Draco had hinted at its peculiar nature earlier, and now the girls were behaving as if they expected something terrible to happen.

Hermione's question was left unanswered though, for Draco had re-Apparated.

"Step back!" There was something in his voice, both pressing and commanding, which made everybody obey at once and backtrack speedily. His warning could not have been more propitiously timed. If it had been a second too late, the indigo coffin-shaped vehicle which had materialised out of nowhere would have transformed them into pulp. Its scrunching tyres sent a layer of soil traipsing through the air. Under its enormous wheels, the signpost lay reduced to mere wood dust. Tiny neon-pink particles bleated feebly.

Hermione and two other girls found themselves retaining their breaths to the point they slowly went purple. Some stood in shock, their mouths a perfect O of surprise; others looked like their eyes might stumble out of their orbits. Quite a few sported comical grimaces, as if a Buffoon-Face Charm had been placed on them.

"What does that—that cursed driver thinks he is doing?" Sarah asked, frowning.

"Alfrid would not be very happy about his signpost!" someone else remarked.

Draco had thrown his blond head back and was laughing wholeheartedly. Then, his eyes caught that of Hermione's. She was looking at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. Her eyes were full of wonder, as if something had enraptured her. The laughter ceased; he had allowed himself to indulge in an alien freedom - something which not his due.

"Ladies, we should go." This suggestion was greeted first with a number of noisy squeals, followed by disagreeing groans, before finally making way to stoic sighs. One by one, everyone began boarding the bus. Hermione couldn't see the driver yet, nor did there seem to be some kind of conductor as she tried to find out by peeking through the high windows, which were bare of glass panes. However, even the less perceptive of eyes could not miss discerning tell-tale shivers travelling through the bodies of those passing in front.

"Hey, Mysterious Girl, you are shining like a looking glass!" Draco said to a teenager who was rooted in front of the glaring headlights of the bus. The coffin on wheels had stopped merely an inch from her nose! Hearing Draco, she shook her head, and hurried to where Hermione stood, at the back of the line. Draco stayed behind, smoothly spinning on his heels to observe the sinking sun.

"Do you know the music video 'Mysterious Girl' by Peter Andre?" she asked.

"No, not really," Hermione replied, thinking it was on rare occasions that she answered a question with a negative!

"I'm Muggleborn, you see, and I do catch up on Muggle music videos and such. Been pestering them all day with that song. I have a bit of a crush on the singer in that video. However fine-looking he might be, you know what, he cannot hope to hold a candle to our Draco in a million years," she sniggered, and then went on plaintively, "Oh no, I really don't feel like getting on this bus."

But boarding it, she did.

_Our Draco,_ she had said, Hermione pondered as she waited her turn. They seemed to positively adore him. She herself had not changed, but pieces of the puzzle which made up Draco Malfoy went missing during the six long years which had elapsed.

**...**

Hermione started to climb the steps of the bus, wondering why in the world had an Extension Charm been put on them. The stairs stretched endlessly ahead. When, panting, she finally reached to the top, she understood.

The Charm had been placed to make people think twice before they got on.

Hermione felt ice forming inside her veins, springing into contact with her skin. Originating from the tips of her toes, the frozen particles braided like lianas across her ankles, legs, hips, arms, and face until she turned into a living ice statue! She wanted to scream, but it was not possible to budge her lips from its ice casing.

Pure shock could not turn someone into frozen state; a combination of factors could. Vaguely, Hermione knew it had to do with the driver. She could not help but derisively think how aptly christened 'Black Eyed Travels' was.

The bus driver was not human. He had the shape of a human, all right, but his eyes were cavernous, pitch-black holes. His unnerving smile induced a deep aversion and bottomless horror in the hapless wizard or witch who had the misfortune of looking at him. Hermione had read accounts of such extreme reactions originating on the part of those exchanging a first gaze with Black-Eyed individuals, but she had thought it mere exaggeration! Not so, she found out.

The ice was melting, Hermione noticed. Rivulets of clear water, glittering against the bright lightings of the bus, carved a multitude of miniscule beds into her frozen prison. As soon as she was freed, she felt someone turning her by the hips so that she faced away from the scary driver. It was Draco. He was no doubt the one who had cast the Hot Air Charm on her. Her clothes had instantly dried up.

"Priceless reaction." He had that rascally half-smile on his lips.

"How dare you?" Hermione snapped. She made a move to angrily remove those slender, long- fingered hands from her hips, but his injury flashed into her mind, and she stopped herself. "Why didn't you tell me about—about the bus driver? I could have been better prepared!" she huffily reproached.

"Surprises make life exciting, Granger." The words were whispered, making Hermione shudder involuntarily. He let go of her.

"No! Bad surprises don't!" Hermione wondered over his choice of words; he had said 'exciting', when someone else might have said 'interesting'. _Devilish rake!_

Hermione grumpily headed towards the back of the bus, where the broadest seat was found. Its two middle portions were the only ones not presently occupied.

Without warning, the bus juddered rather vigorously as it was put into gear. The jerky motion forcefully pulled Hermione behind. She found herself stumbling backwards, her back slamming hard against Draco's firm chest. She feared she might turn into ice again! Pure shock would do it this time around.

She heard Draco give a low chuckle. His arms were cosily wrapped around her waist, and she could feel their warmth seeping through to her own skin. Goosebumps filled every inch of it. She wondered whether this was caused by the gust currently sweeping in from the large windows.

"Do you know what a tremolo is, Granger?" He spoke in a faintly hazy, wonder-filled manner.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, almost inaudibly. Both of them seemed to have shut out the intensely inquisitive stares they were drawing.

"It's a musical term which delineates different styles of trembling effects. Shut your eyes…" Hermione did as he entreated. "Can you hear your body doing one? Can you hear how the heaving of your heart, the rhythmic cadence of your pulses, the wind's imperceptible vibrations against your clothes combine to draw out an attractive sound, so much like the chords of a mandolin being plucked… in a deceptively quivering tune?"

Behind her closed eyelids, Hermione thought she could hear the beautiful sound he was describing. She listened to the tingling, magician-like quality of his voice, which was surely perfectly able to create illusions and summon apparitions through mere words. She felt his measured heartbeats, the steady pulse at the wrists wrapped around her…she delighted in the way he buried his face in her hair.

Delighted in the way…_Delighted?_ What in the world! Hermione's eyes at once flung open. For one moment, she had forgotten who she was, where she was, and who she was with.

She tried pushing Draco back, but he was not releasing her. Not yet.

"Let me go!"

"On one condition."

"What?" Hermione inquired in great consternation.

"That you take an Unbreakable Vow."

"Are you crazy? An Unbreakable Vow is not something to jest around with," chided Hermione. "A vow about what, anyway?"

"About changing your shampoo, Granger. The smell nearly made me unconscious." He nonchalantly passed by her, jokily swiping a finger under his nose.

Hermione, growing red with embarrassment, followed, frowning and mumbling under her breath. _He thinks it's fun toying with me! I won't give him the opportunity to do as he please anymore!_

She let herself fall in the seat next to him. She felt like taking out her wand and hexing him out of that haughty self-assurance he displayed.

Draco was already busy sharing some joke or another; the girls and a few other passengers present were erupting in cheers and laughter all around. She envied him his apparent composure, while she herself was still somewhat in shock at how she had blanked out all of the world and its concerns in those few seconds he had held her. Indeed, merely a few seconds could have trickled by, but it had felt as if all the watches of the Universe had ceased to exist during those brief moments…

Oh, how she hated him!

"Why do men have to sit with their legs so far apart?" Hermione did not realise her disgruntlement had led her to say her sentence aloud. Giggles and chortles instantly inundated the bus.

"Do the reason really need to be explained to you, Granger?"

Decidedly, she was making gaffes upon gaffes! Thankfully, their focus was drawn away from her as the bus came to a halt, and another colourful burst of dresses and robes boarded. There were no seats left. Planting his hands between the hips of two girls who had come to stand at the back, side by side, Draco parted them as one would part curtains in order to survey in the resulting singular opening, how many people there were in the bus.

_Was anything and everything permissible to the brash rake?_ The girls did not seem to mind in the least. They were jubilant!

"Sit down, one of you," he offered as he himself got up and made his way towards the front, where nobody dared to linger because of Mr Driver.

"Why haven't Extension Charms been placed on the seats?" Hermione asked the person in the window seat beside her. It was the same girl who had confessed about watching Muggle music videos.

"Oh, that's because the bus is hardly ever this full. In fact, it frequently travels without passengers! If you want my opinion, I think it is because of Draco that many of these girls are here. They would give anything to have a look at Ladon! See how they are gawking at him and asking him to sign their copies of The Passion Serpent!"

"Quite so!" Hermione observed. "But how did they know he would be travelling on this bus?"

"Didn't you see? Ah, you were not there. Well, when we reached earlier with the Airavatas, some of the girls had sent messages to their friends using their Patronuses. Draco had come about fifteen minutes later. I suppose he must have been waiting for you."

"Granger, the Cardamom Mountains call. Evening, ladies."

Hermione quickly descended. The bus disappeared, leaving them alone under the waning moon. "Did you wait for me when we had been travelling with the Airavatas? I was told you reached fifteen minutes after the others had arrived," she blurted out, realising too late the question led to nowhere.

"You sound as if you'd have been pleased if I had."

"No…its—"

"You forget who I am, Granger."

"Who are you?" Hermione asked defiantly.

"I'm not one of your friends, nor will I ever be." This answer sounded fairly familiar to her, but she did not take the time to muse over it. The contempt she could spot in his voice fired her on.

"Fine! Then why do you take liberties with me? Why did you hold me like that in the bus?"

"Hold you? I didn't _hold you_. I prevented you from twisting your neck from a potentially disastrous fall."

"What is it to you that I twist my neck—or—or that an Airavata crushes me, for all that matter?"

"Nothing."

"Wh—what?

"It is nothing to me. Isn't it simple human nature to prevent someone from getting hurt, if one can help it? That shouldn't have been stranger to you. Didn't you like to play the heroes in the past? The identity of who you are saving hardly matters."

"Well, I don't remember _you_ having had that particular human trait _ever_ in the past!"

"You might have extra minutes to waste Granger, I don't. Rest assured though, should a boulder roll in your direction and should you be unaware of it—there are many loose ones precariously perched in this region; a mere footstep can upset them—I would happily let it obliterate every trace of you."

"Good. I would do the same!"

"And remember not to use your wand under any circumstance. This is an enchanted forest sheltering strong, ancient magic. Using your wand will make—"

"I know! I'm not an ignorant fool. The forest will feel threatened and unleash countless attacks to defend itself."

"Excellent. Wanted to make sure you knew. Dying here with you isn't quite how I imagined the end."

"It doesn't exactly excite my fancy, either. But I suppose I would delight in hearing the agonised cries of the bouncy, twitchy little ferret! I must mention that other than you, I like all the other members of the ferret-kind and mean them no harm whatsoever."

A thin rain began to fall. It didn't hide the fiery beam flashing across Draco's eyes, which seemed almost coal black at that instance.

He made an exceptionally quick dash towards Hermione; all she saw was an incisive blur. The next moment, his lips were ravishing hers in such a lasciviously indecent a manner she thought her heart would either burst open, or that she would lose consciousness. Her legs ceased supporting her, stars danced at the back of her eyes, a honeyed languor diffused in her blood, and ticklish warmth pooled at the junction of her thighs.

Draco released her a long…long while later, realising both of them had not been breathing for an extended stretch of time. Hermione shoved him away from her, but not with half as much violence as she would have wished. Her hands were trembling. Her whole body was trembling. She should slap him, but her mind was still dazed. It was not sending clear signals to the few muscles she would need to deploy in order to carry out with her wish!

"Why the bloody hell did you—do that for?" Hermione croaked, out of breath.

"I'm not sure, Granger," Draco said, assuming all the air of someone puzzling over an infinitely difficult cipher. "Was it to…shut you up? Or… to spite you?" He took little steps forward, forcing Hermione to slowly retreat. "Could it have been to compel you to remember you are alone with me, unable to use your wand for protection?"

Again that sense of deja vu.

"I might well decide death is a better option than your—your kissing me! What—just what is so hilarious, Mr Draco Malfoy, to warrant such an unapologetic expression of mirth on your face?" Hermione indignantly put her hand on her hips.

"I must confess, Miss Granger" — Draco unhurriedly traced the contours of his bottom lip with his thumb— "I'm surprised. I didn't expect such a passionate response from you."

"I hate you!" On how many instances already had she inwardly avowed that today? Hermione was glad it was dark since he couldn't possibly see her blushing fiercely.

'Not more than I do." Draco, on the other hand, was glad she couldn't look at her own lips. They were swollen and had acquired a tantalising cerise shade.

He turned away from her; he did not trust himself. He had not put an inch of self-restraint in that wild kiss. Hermione had positively annihilated his self-control.

"Are you going to stand there ruminating, or are we going to look for the Gypsy Caravan. Hello, Mister, will you lis—"

Draco put a silencing finger across Hermione's lips. "Hush, listen."

The soft pattering of the rain had stopped, but it had awakened a male cricket which, sensing a female near, was quietly humming its courting song. The leaves of trees swished and rustled. A lonely bat glided in the air above, looking for ripened fruits.

Then, from deep in the mountains, Hermione heard a howl which made the fine hairs at the back of her neck raise on their ends.

**...**

The Howling Griffith-Wolf

"Quick!" Draco was running. Hermione tried to emulate his precise, dexterous movements. She succeeded to some extent, until her left foot got tangled into the overgrown curvature of a root. Draco helped her free herself and, grabbing her hand, smoothly led her over big rocks and fallen branches, making sure to stay away from swamps to guard against leeches. They crossed rapids and lilliputian streams, carefully threading their way around mazes of gnarled, thorny bushes.

Draco appeared the least bothered about the growingly tall canopy blocking out the moonlight. Hermione, who wasn't stranger to making her way across forests, found that her eyes were hardly getting accustomed to the darkness, having always used the Lumos spell to advance. She had had to remind herself on several occasions not to use her wand, which was second nature to all wizards—though Draco seemed to be managing excellently well without.

Another piercing howl, much nearer to them, slashed through the night. Whoever or whatever had uttered the cry must be in very deep pain, Hermione thought, pushing herself to run faster.

The spaces between trees were becoming more spacious. There seemed to some sort of clearing right ahead. When they arrived on its edge, they stopped.

The rays of the moon appeared to focus on one of the most heart wrenching sight ever. In the middle of the clearing was a fledgling Griffith-Wolf; a magical creature which, even though still a baby, was still twice the size of an average wolf. Lustrous scales ranging from the lightest of sea green to the darkest sapphire adorned its body. Griffith-Wolves were blind; their big luminous white eyes were not of much use to them. To compensate, Mother Nature had gifted them with an exceptionally well-developed sense of smell and orientation. This cub obviously did not master those attributes well enough. He had strayed from his pack, and his left front leg was caught in a huge leg-hold trap, the type some cruel wizards manufactured to collect animal trophies.

Muggles too indulged in this atrocious cruelty. Hermione couldn't fathom how man could stoop that low and inflict such torment upon innocent creatures, which have asked nothing of them. The animals simply want to lead peaceful lives with their own families. They want to frolic in the grass, holler together on full moons, play endlessly, bath in the sunshine; how can a human being hold their fate in his hands? Blood streamed down its leg as the poor soul struggled fiercely to get free of the damned trap. It was even gnawing at its leg in a desperate bid to finally be able to rejoin its mother, father, its little brothers and sisters, and its playmates.

At the sight, Hermione broke out into uncontrollable tears, advancing towards the unfortunate cub to try and free him. _No, there would be no trying about it. She would free him!_

"Stop," Draco said, catching hold of Hermione's wrist.

"What do you mean, stop?" yelled Hermione heatedly.

"Look at the trap; it's rusted. It won't open easily. Get me some barks from that Weeping Willow. Just do as I say." Hermione had been on the point of protesting, but hurried to do what he said, seeing the unyielding look on his face. He looked murderous.

Draco tried to approach the cub, but smelling him, it became more alarmed. Its impressive jaws snapped wildly at the air, its body relentlessly struggling to tear its leg away from the trap.

"Here!" Hermione rushed to him, tears still rolling freely from her eyes. Her heart was breaking to pieces. "We'll free you, little one," she silently prayed.

Tearing off the piece of cloth wrapped around his injury, Draco hastily placed the barks Hermione had collected all around the wound before rewrapping the bandage. He then flung himself next to the Griffith-Wolf, causing the terrified creature to snap defensively at the forearm Draco placed next to its jaws. In a flash, rivulets of blood pierced both the barks and cloth. "Fuck," Draco swore under his breath. Hermione saw his eyes glisten briefly before he looked away.

"Draco!"

"Hurry, Granger! Try to open the leg-hold."

Hermione at once set to work, trying to force apart the rusting steel clasps. She became increasingly agitated when she noticed that her efforts were not being fruitful. Queerly, as the Griffith-Wolf held onto Draco's forearm, its struggles lessened. It must have been trapped for more than five hours. Its forces were dwindling. Draco stroked the wolf behind its pointy ears. The cub would not survive if they further delayed in freeing it.

"Get up and try standing on the clasps. Here, Granger!" Draco drew out a small pouch from a pocket of his jeans with his left hand, tossing it at Hermione. "Use all the Blood Agrimony on his injury when the clasp unfastens. Mix it with earth first."

"Why isn't it getting undone?" Hermione moaned in distress as she caught the small pouch, hastily drew out the Blood Agrimony - an extremely rare herb with blood clotting properties- putting the herbs on the earth next to her. She literally jumped onto the clasps, which then, to her intense relief, sprang open.

Draco stood up, using his free hand to restrain the cub, which had not yet realised it was free. He did not want it to make a dash for the forest, yet. The deadly jaws of the trap still left its imprisoning impression on the young mind of the animal.

Holding the injured leg of the hapless creature, Hermione applied the Blood Agrimony mixed with wet soil onto its wound, stealing glances at both Draco and the creature as she did so. The mixture was quickly showing its effects. The Griffith-Wolf, purring quietly, seemed to like what she was doing.

Draco gently pried the creature's jaw open. It reluctantly released him. He unfolded the bloodied cloth with his mouth, and handed it over to Hermione.

She bound the creature's wound tightly, fumbling a little as her vision blurred and large drops of tears splashed onto her hands. She was realising now why Draco let the Griffith-Wolf hold onto his forearm; it was how cubs like this one held onto their parents. The scaly bodies of these adult Griffiths were very thick, and biting was one of the ways the blind cub fondly communicated with its closed ones.

Suddenly, about a dozen howls erupted across the forest. It had to be the family of the cub calling for it. Hermione had finished dressing its wound. With a little nudge from Draco in the direction of the wails, baby Griffith-Wolf sprinted away with a yelp of joy. It did not care about the excruciating pain in its limb.

Draco picked up the leg-hold trap and placed it underneath an overhanging boulder.

"Care to do the honours?" he asked, unsmiling.

"With pleasure!" Hermione replied. They both walked up a little ledge at the edge of which the large boulder reposed.

"On your marks, go!" Draco shouted. Hermione raced to the boulder and pushed it. It cheerfully dislodged, falling directly on the steel trap and smashing the hated object to pieces.

"That feels satisfying!" Hermione declared.

"Good. Now get ready to run as fast as you did just now."

"Huh? Why?" Draco did not have to answer. Hermione listened with stupefaction as she realised the pack of Griffith-Wolves were coming their way.

"This is bad!" she shouted.

They took to their heels without wasting a moment, but adult Griffith-Wolves, threefold the already massive size of their cubs, were extremely rapid and fast catching on them.

"They—they sound angry!" Hermione panted.

"They have reason to be. A human injured their cherished cub. The cloth has my blood on it. They probably think it's me."

"But we saved—"

"Stop running; better climb that tree, Granger!" Draco pointed to the immensely tall and large Bombax tree in front of them.

"What—I can't!"

"What are you doing in a forest if you don't know how to climb a tree?"

"I can climb a tree! But it's so dark I wouldn't be able to see anything."

"You don't need to see anything; feel the holds with your hands."

A howl seemed to come from right behind them, prompting Hermione to rush to the Bombax tree and ascend it as fast as she could. But she soon lost her footing, and would have broken her hips if Draco did not catch her.

"You seem to love free falling," he whispered. He was surely remembering the night before, Hermione thought, when drunk, she had crawled atop the table and nearly fallen onto broken glass.

"Thank—thank you," Hermione murmured. "How come you haven't begun to climb yet…I'm thankful for it, of course!"

Draco slowly shook his head. "Put your hands around my neck," he said. He turned to offer her his back.

"Why?"

"We have to climb this tree, Granger, if we don't want to end up as dinner for a pack of vengeful Griffith-Wolves."

Draco's voice had acquired a quaint timbre. He was speaking so softly…as if he had retreated to somewhere no one could reach. There was a bit of sadness in his voice, a bit of resignation, a bit of something which made Hermione unthinkingly do as he asked. She didn't realise, however, that she was circling her hands around his waist, instead.

Draco did not say anything. He merely raised Hermione's hands to his neck and carefully lifted her legs to his hips. "Hold on tight, Granger."

Hermione could feel every undulation of his muscles ripple against her own body as he ascended the tree adeptly. She was tempted to rest her head against his back, but she did not want to inconvenience him in any manner whatsoever. A million thoughts were crossing her mind again. Her school years…The Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts, this Draco Malfoy; what had she missed?

This man…Hermione felt unable to follow the trend of her own thoughts. She just…just wanted him to be here…forever.

With her?

"Granger, have you fallen asleep?"

"Oh…no, why? Am I clutching at you too tightly? Are you being bothered in some way?"

"You were much too quiet. Hold tighter."

"Okay."

"See near to the middle, where the trunk of the tree forks in two? That's where we'll stop."

"Isn't that too far? This tree must be at least forty metres in height!"

"It isn't far enough when a dozen Griffiths set about rearing up on their hind legs — easily reaching at a height of twelve metres — pawing wrathfully at the tree."

At that moment, both of them felt a muffled thump reverberate across the length of the tree. Draco was now climbing at an impossibly fast pace.

"Don't look, Granger." Hermione did not have to be so advised; she had closed her eyes tightly, knowing what had caused the sound.

The first few dull thumps quickly changed into a multitude of loud and furious blows. Draco and Hermione reached to the fork in the trunk and at present stopped. Massive dark shapes and their tall shadows were growling at them from below. Flashes of ivory-white fangs and luminous blind eyes pierced the darkness. Enraged cries came from all direction. Clouds of vapour from the snouts of the snarling Griffiths cooled the air around them.

"Poor creatures!" Hermione muttered, feeling the pain the animals were going through. "What if we hadn't come here? What would have happened to that cub? Cruelty like this has been pervading for much too long. Humans can stoop so low," she reflected, both anger and sadness assailing her.

"Humans, both Wizards and Muggles, oftentimes prove to be the most dangerous and unfeeling race on Earth, Granger. A Magical Creature Anti-Hunting law has recently been put in place here, but, as with every laws, violations are rife."

"But how can we stop this?"

"Can it be stopped?" Draco's voice was bitter. "Since time immemorial, we have given proof of our propensity for bloodshed, for callousness. We have subjugated animal kind to countless suffering on the mistaken premise that we are in some way superior to them. We are not, damn it all. Our lives have hardly any more merit than that of a mere bug…And yet? Do we ever stop to think about that?"

Was this the same person who had once boasted about the purported superiority of so-called pure-bloods?

"You are right, Draco," she repressed the slight shiver showing signs of wanting to escape at saying his name. "What gives a life form rights over another life form, we hardly ever bother to think about; most of us just live, contented or discontented with what life has to offer…" Hermione agreed. Her admiration for him was swelling at breakneck speed. She was not in any way fighting the rapid thudding in her veins.

"A passionless life, Granger."

"Very true, but one which education and compassion can help remedy."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, yes…don't you agree?"

The softly uttered question seemed to surprise both of them into taking their positions into account. Hermione had been leaning against him, both of her hands on his chest, whilst Draco had been clutching her to him, his arms around her waist.

They immediately disengaged, but one of Draco's hands reached behind Hermione's ear. His fingers lightly grazed the sensitive skin of her neck. The shiver escaped…

"What—what are you doing?"

"This gentleman here seems to agree with you." Draco drew out a small, furry squirrel from Hermione's hair. "It's a Cambodian Striped Squirrel. Say hello to the lady, little Mister." As if heeding his plea, the Squirrel let out a tiny squeak, cocking its head inquisitively.

"How adorable!" Hermione said, taking the endearing mammal from Draco's careful grasp into her own. "You are not a nocturnal squirrel, why are you still up then?"

"Told you, Granger. Must be your shampoo."

"My shampoo smells perfectly fine, doesn't it, Mister Squirrel?"

"Hey down there, we saved your cub! Shouldn't you dash home and look after him?" Hermione watched astonished as Draco knelt down and spoke to the Griffith-Wolves. They seemed to have quietened a while ago. Hermione had, amazingly, momentarily forgotten about their presence!

"They are leaving," Hermione observed.

"Yes."

"They somehow realise it wasn't us?"

"Maybe they do."

"I wish animals didn't have to suffer,' said Hermione dejectedly.

A single tear rolled down her cheeks, but its solitary journey was cut mid-way as Draco's lips brushed against her face. It had been an impossibly swift move which made Hermione hold her breath, motionless. "There's something else here," he said. "Fine… dealt with. You should help the squirrel back into its nest."

"Oh—all right. Goodnight, little one. Be safe." Hermione gently put the squirrel into the hole not far behind her. "What did you find?"

"This." Draco produced a lovely red Bombax flower. The five large petals, held against the backdrop of the branches, filtered the light from brightly lit torches which were seen steadily progressing along the forest floor. A burly, bearded man wearing hundreds of bead necklaces and sporting an extraordinarily long moustache reached them first.

"Nuestro Draco guapo se acurrucó en un árbol con una mujer hermosa, ¿por qué no estoy sorprendido?" the man said, laughing. His portly voice was warm with affection and joviality.

"Hola, mi amigo! Me alegra verte…aunque no he sido capaz de pasar el suficiente tiempo con esta flor encantadora aquí.¡No importa! Parece que usted ha estado bebiendo demasiada cerveza otra vez, a juzgar por el estómago abultado de la tuya! ¿Por qué no te preocupes por tu salud? ¿Quién cuidará de la Caravana Gitana si usted se enferma?"

"Por favor, no trates de quitar mi consuelo, dragón príncipe! Te preocupas demasiado! Come down so that this old man can hug you! No te he visto en tanto tiempo! Who is the beautiful woman with you?"

It was pleasant to follow this conversation between the two men, although Hermione could not make out what they were saying. Hearing Draco speak fluent Spanish with an exotic inflection to it made her smile in amazement.

"Granger, this is Marcus, the chieftain of the Gypsy Caravan."

"Good evening, sir! Glad to meet you. How are you?"

"My warmest greetings to you, most lovely woman! Let us resume the presentations once you are safely down, if our rebellious Senor Draco can spare you, that is! Come now, the Gypsy Caravan isn't very far, and our Oriental Night is about to kick off. The tents have been pitched next to the Khett Preah Falls. You, youngsters, look like you could do with some of our special brews!"

…..


	16. Chapter 15: The Gypsy Caravan

**Chapter 15: The Gypsy Caravan**

**Tuesday, 08 30 A.M., One of Lima's Barriadas, Peru**

Lima was a very large city with more than nine million Muggles. Laurence Alcott was safe as long as he didn't risk going out in public. Almost four hours after he had escaped with the _Peruvian Sun_, he had to admit he had grossly underestimated the extent of his injuries. He had collapsed to the ground after Apparating in front of the inconspicuous house he had had built in one of Lima's barriadas. Hauling himself up with difficulty, he had locked himself in the house and put various protective charms all around it. He needed time to recuperate.

The current sibilance of the potion he brewed, which had the consistency and appearance comparable to molten lead, in a brass cauldron, and the bitter black fumes which invaded the room indicated that the _Cauterizing Potion_ he was making was ready. Taking a silver ladle, he scooped some of the boiling potion and splashed it across his various wounds. His screams of agony would not be heard by the Muggles outside. Silencing Charms took care of that.

**Same day and time, Peruvian Ministry of Magic, Lima, Peru**

The Peruvian Ministry of Magic was abuzz with the news of the attack upon three of its most capable Aurors. Harry, Ron, Parvati and Alicia had left those unlucky souls at the reserved hospital wing attached to the Ministry. They were now waiting alongside other Peruvian Aurors in a grand atrium for a conference with the Peruvian Minister for Magic. Zabini, Nott, Greengrass, and Turpin had been alerted to what had happened, and they too were present, although they did not care to mingle with their other English colleagues.

"We were so close!" Harry restlessly paced along the wooden floor.

"Bugger!" exclaimed Ron. "If we'd reached there earlier, we might have stopped that man."

"True! International Arrest Warrants against Laurence Alcott have already been issued, though. He is surely seriously injured and, with any luck, someone might spot him," Alicia interjected.

"He didn't manage to kill the Aurors because he was pressed for time, I suppose," Parvati Patil added. "We've got Ladon Hydras to thank that for. His strategy was the best. His article forced Ministries across the world to cooperate with each other. Without that, no one would ever even have found the right charnel house!"

"Yeah, but we were still too late. The Peruvian Aurors are lucky the only thing wrong with them is that they've been drained of all their energy. Will take them a few weeks to get back up on their feet. It could have been so much worse," Alicia observed.

"From all this, it is now at least crystal clear who our man is, and what he is after," Harry said. "I wonder if he is really doing all of this on his own or whether he is being helped by someone else. I am ready to bet he would try to gain lackeys to help him in his task."

"I think I should send an owl to Hermione," Ron said. "She would want to know what is happening. I haven't heard from her since she's gone off to Cambodia."

"We probably should," Harry agreed. "I wonder if she's been able to find Ladon Hydras yet."

Presently, a side-door opened. The Peruvian Minister for Magic, Eduardo Benavides, walked in, dressed in a magnificent magenta robe, accompanied by the Heads of the various magical departments. The English Aurors were formally introduced, welcomed, and thanked by their Peruvian counterparts. English was spoken for the benefit of the distinguished visitors.

"I am glad to have you here, and I apologise for having kept you waiting, my dear friends," Eduardo Benavides said. "We've all had a very early morning, haven't we? I met with a representative of the Peruvian Branch of _The Passion Serpent_ hours ago, just minutes after our English friends here brought the injured Aurors. I told him about what had happened. Our request for a meeting with their renowned leader has again been politely refused. However, I was informed by the representative that the reclusive Ladon Hydras seemed to have made an exception for a certain Miss Granger."

"I knew Hermione could do it!" Ron gleefully whispered to his friends, oblivious to the dark looks bestowed upon him by a resentful Daphne Greengrass. Blaise Zabini, who had disagreed when Daphne had said Hermione was not the appropriate person to send on such a task, sported a smug expression on his face.

"I was just informed by Kingsley Shacklebolt, the English Minister for Magic, that an owl had been received from Miss Granger who said she had been able to meet up with Ladon Hydras. If everything goes well, Miss Granger should be able to persuade Mr. Hydras to attend the important Wizard World Conference which will take place on Friday, in Britain. It is hoped they would be able to find the _Lover's Heart_ as well. Aurors of various countries have not been successful in this task so far."

The Minister and many of the Aurors present could not quite conceal their excitement over the prospect of finally meeting the famous Ladon. The meeting continued with the English and Peruvian Aurors sharing wizarding intelligence with each other. If they were to be successful in stopping the Dark Wizard, they would have to be well-coordinated in their efforts and proceed quickly.

**...**

**Tuesday, 20: 30 PM., Khett Preah Falls, Cambodia**

Twenty minutes later, Hermione, Draco, Marcus and all the others arrived at the Khett Preah Falls. The Gypsy Caravan was not one vehicle, but a long line of carriages each decorated in their own picturesque fashion. Not one was the same. These carriages were lined up on one side. In between the spaces, Hermione could see tents of all kinds of colours set against the backdrop of a breath-taking waterfall. Magical spells flew from one end to the other. Busy preparations were going on. Food was being cooked, and heavenly aromas infused the air; children were being bathed, dressed, and lightly scolded for being naughty; logs had been bewitched to hover in the air and were carefully picking their way through the dazzlingly colourful and effervescent mass of people.

"You can use your wand now, little lady. The presence of all these witches and wizards provide an excellent counter-force to the forest's own powerful enchantments."

Marcus had taken Hermione's arm whilst Draco was still busy receiving the accolades of the men who had accompanied their chief. Marcus had explained they had heard the howling and resounding hooves of Griffith-Wolves and had come along to see if they could be of any help.

"Look here, my proud men and women. See who I, your marvellous chieftain, have brought you!" Marcus hollered gleefully as they traversed the carriages.

At once, Draco was surrounded by a sea of wizards and witches– if one excludes the many children who tried to squeeze in between the legs of the adults in order to throw themselves into his arms – who could not quite believe they were really seeing him. Anxious queries and myriad expressions of delight kept popping from everywhere in several languages.

"El Dragon Principe!"

"Mulţumesc lui Dumnezeu că te-ai intors! "

"Draco! Oh, how we've missed you! Where have you been? "

"Oye, Sohniyo, aap to hume bhool hi gaye!"

"C'est vrai! Regardez, mes chers amis, c'est réellement notre prince, le beau Dragon! "

"Es usted realmente?"

"Draco, c'est toi? Je n'en crois pas mes yeux!"

"Dígame que usted está aquí para quedarse!"

"C'mon folks, isn't it that 'el dragon principe' thing getting a bit much? No, didn't miss you. ¿Estoy loco para pensar en ti?" Draco was overwhelmed by a number of protestations at what he had said.

Hermione could not understand what was happening. Why were they so fond of him? She knew the Gypsy Caravan had to be located because the old man who possessed a _Papyro Ithicus_ was travelling with them, but she had not expected Draco to be so well acquainted with these people! They seemed like one big family dotingly opening their arms to greet another one of their long-lost, enormously-loved member.

"Okay, okay. I wasn't serious. Dragostea doare, dar eu încă te iubesc…" At this, a general wave of mellowness washed through the elated crowd. The hugs became even more effusive, and the greetings, though strangely toned down by whatever he had confessed, never more heartfelt. Incredulously, some dabbed at happy tears.

"Por los cielos, you bunch of unfeeling people, let el dragon principe breathe!" Marcus ushered. "Now that you've greeted him, go on, get to your tasks. You'll have all the time of the world to catch up later. Draco and this young woman have some urgent business to attend to first."

At the mention of Hermione, about fifty pairs of very curious eyes – as she had noticed was the case whenever she found herself with Draco - turned to look at her. They had warm smiles for her; it was clear they were having difficulty retaining themselves from asking the numerous questions they surely had. However, they did as Marcus requested, shortly dispersing and getting back to decorating the camp.

"As I understand, it is the old man from Sarando that you want to meet?"

"Right, Marcus. Where is he?"

Marcus let out an amused chortle. "Something tells me your task won't be too difficult. He seems to have found the Wonder he'd been looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you'll see. He's in that bright yellow tent over there. Get over with what you have to do quickly. Your injury needs to be taken care of straightaway."

"Thanks, Marcus. Granger," Draco beckoned to Hermione, who followed him.

"How come you are so close with these people?" Hermione asked as they walked on. Glances kept reverting to them now and then.

"I've travelled with the Gypsy Caravan for a while," Draco replied as he lifted a dozing, downy poult out of their way. The mother turkey gobbled along, purring fondly against Draco's boots. "Granger, meet Xena. She's four years old."

Hermione looked at Draco disbelievingly. She was surely hallucinating! He had knelt down, gently ruffling mother turkey's feathers. Hermione knelt down next to him. "Hello, Xena. Nice to meet you!"

Draco clucked his tongue. "Won't work, Granger."

"What?"

"Xena will answer only if you speak to her in bird language," interjected an old, but radiant, woman coming out of the yellow tent. She hugged Draco. "Mi hijo, me alegra ver que están de vuelta!"

"I see what Marcus meant when he said the wizard from Sarando found his Wonder."

Blushing, the woman said: "Draco, es usted muy travieso!"

"Talk to you later, Helena."

"¡Buenísimo!"

"Come in, come in," ushered a cheery voice once Draco and Hermione found themselves at the entrance of the tent.

"Stealing hearts at this age, old chap?" Draco said as he shook hands with the man. "Let me know if you ever need some bed-breaking potion."

Hermione repressed the sudden urge to burst out laughing. A few giggles escaped, to her intense dismay. Couldn't he have a bit more respect when addressing someone who seemed to be in his late sixties? she wondered. She could hardly picture either Ron or Harry addressing someone like that. The man's appearance was immaculate, unlike what Draco had described in his article.

"Little Master Draco making fun of me? Doesn't matter. I must confess I'll always be grateful to you for sending me to travel with these wonderful people! Who is this lovely lady here?"

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. I am here to—"

"Glad to meet you, Miss Granger. I know why both of you are here."

"The wonders of love!" Draco lightly mocked.

"Oh, yes. Yes. You'll understand when velvety, doe-like eyes look your way coyly…" The old man's gaze travelled to Hermione and back to Draco. Hermione wondered why she felt her cheeks go hot all of a sudden.

"Here, take this." The man's hand trembled as he took out a dirty, frayed scroll from out of his vest. He hesitated for a few minutes. "Ah, take it. Take the _Papyro Ithicus_," he said after a while, forcing the ancient parchment into Draco's hands. "It has brought me nothing but misery. I didn't realize that, in a quest as mad as this one, Time will not wait for me. I once had someone who cared about me…Oh well. The Wonders are dangerous, young devil. You know that, right?"

"I know." Draco handed the parchment to Hermione, who looked at him curiously even as she tucked the _Papyro Ithicus_ inside her small, expandable bag.

"I cannot thank you enough, Sir," Hermione said, turning to the old man from Sarando. "Rest assured, we'll make sure, if we find the Wonders, they do not get into wrong hands. Thank you for your kind understanding and co-operation. I will personally make sure the Ministry for Magic acknowledges your invaluable contribution to this mission."

"Thank you, young lady. I feel as if a burden has been lifted off my shoulders. It was time to let go of that cursed piece of paper."

"Wise decision, old man. Enjoy your evening," Draco bade on their way out.

"Have a most lovely evening," Hermione added.

"Wait a bit!" The man suddenly cried. "Oh, you can go ahead, little lady," he said to Hermione, looking suddenly discomfited.

As Draco stayed behind, Hermione chuckled upon hearing the old man whispering about the potion Draco had previously alluded to.

Once outside, she was immediately surrounded by a bunch of chattering girls. They were arguing amongst themselves over something Hermione couldn't quite understand. Something about dressing up?

"Who do you want to go with?" some asked her.

"With us, of course!" others answered on her behalf.

"I—I'm afraid I don't understand," Hermione mumbled.

"Make way, you raucous, beautiful parakeets," Draco said as he pulled down the bright yellow curtain across the tent's entrance. "How about you all get a chance of experimenting on Miss Granger?"

Loud expressions of assent greeted his suggestion. Hands started pulling her to a different direction, and she had no choice but to let herself be led away.

"Ex—experimenting? What do you mean?" Hermione quizzed, craning her neck to look at Draco.

A roguish smirk adorned his face as he chose not to answer. "Rina, where's Laila?"

"She's in the forest!" came the answer.

**...**

Who was Laila? Hermione found herself anxiously pondering over. Some raven-haired, strictly pure-blood beauty with glittering eyes? An icon of the latest wizarding fashion? Did Draco Malfoy have someone he loved? She had not previously given a thought about this possibility. How would the person who captures his heart be like? And how is he, when in love? It was unfathomable.

Romantic love. An emotion she had felt, kept on feeling, but never really questioned. All creatures feel love. And human beings love in different ways. Did personality have anything to do with how one loved? Could a tyrant claim to love? Or is it necessary that the one who professes to love be someone of generous nature, of generous spirit, of kind disposition towards all?

Whoever Laila was, Hermione grinned inwardly at the thought that this person wouldn't be very happy about Draco agreeing to take Hermione along…alone…on this quest. Perhaps he was going to explain why he was helping Hermione? Why was he, indeed? And why had he given the _Papyro Ithicus_ to her without having second thoughts? Wouldn't the Draco Malfoy of years ago jealously guard one of the seven Wonders of the Wizarding World, if he had come across it? Wouldn't he try to put it to use at once? It was such an unlikely move on his part; yet, he had casually chucked the precious parchment into her hands. And it seemed as if she had become impregnated with some of his apparent insouciance, for she had herself not thought of very carefully securing the highly important manuscript. She had simply slid it into her bag.

And now, she was obsessing over the identity of this enigmatic Laila.

"What are you thinking so deeply about?" sang a chorus of female voices. Hermione looked up to see that she had been ushered onto some kind of stool in the middle of a large tent, and about fifteen girls surrounded her. The rest of the wide space was taken up by women, young and old, busy getting dressed in oriental style flamboyant clothes. Somebody clapped and a bright green saree with intricate gold and red trimmings unfolded next to them, acquiring the shape of a woman.

"Not quite," someone commented. "Miss Granger needs something more sensual to emphasise her breasts. The saree will just cover her up. We don't want that!"

_Sensual? Something to emphasise my breasts?_ "What's happening? My clothes are perfectly fine!"

"A saree does not cover up. All resides in how you wear it. The colour is good enough, but we need something else."

"Hasn't Marcus told you? It is Oriental Night! We dress up in Eastern style clothing and—"

"Don't tell her everything. You'll spoil the surprise!"

"Ah, right…You'll see, Miss Granger."

"Have the children been put to bed?"

"All tight asleep!"

"Miss Granger's bath is ready," announced a girl.

"Show her the way, Lind, while we deliberate over the outfits."

…

"Thank you," Hermione muttered gratefully. The latter half of the day had flown in a flash. The Airavatas, the scary mansion, the haunted bus, the Griffith-Wolves, the _Papyro Ithicus_, Hermione listed in her mind. And not to mention the mystifying whirlwind which had claimed and imprisoned her as soon as she had set eyes upon that man…

"Here you are. I'll come fetch you in half an hour," the girl called Lind said.

Hermione had been led to an exquisite, brightly-lit bathroom. A foamy bubble-bath simmered delicately, wafting the sweet scent of jasmine. Towels and a fluffy robe were neatly folded on a black marble vanity top. Hermione came to stand in front of a large, revolving dressing mirror.

She was quite a sight to look at! Messy, tangled hair. Red lips: redder than usual, slightly swollen…and whose fault was that? The frisson darting through her gave a tell-tale clue, but the flames licking at her cheeks gave the answer away. What had come over him? It hadn't been her first kiss, certainly not. But it had bedazzled her…as if she had experienced a first true kiss; bubbly champagne spilling in a sizzling shower onto the hot, fleshy sponge of her heart. Yet, conflicting thoughts scrambled in her head, saying she had been kissed like that before, but then how could she not remember?

Hermione touched the wet patch on the side of her shirt. _Draco's blood_. He had bled quite a lot today. She still did not know what had caused that first gash. Someone must be taking care of his injury right now. She had no idea how to behave around him, what to think of him and his motives, for surely he couldn't have made a frank U-turn from hating Muggle-borns and then, agreeing to help her… kissing her? As she time and again reminded herself, this was Draco Malfoy. He had earned another identity as Ladon Hydras, but that did not change who he really was! She had not had time to think about it before but he _had_ kissed her, and she had reacted like a brazen hussy. What to make up of all this? What to make up of her own reaction? _The Tales of Beetle the Bard_ had not bothered her half as much as the situation she found herself in now did. Wasn't she thinking too much about it all?

It might indeed not have been a kiss for him. As he had said, it had only been a manoeuvre to make her dread being alone with him. She did not know about dread, but she had felt one emotion with outrageous clarity – that the world had somehow strangely tilted a bit more into the exciting, the thrilling, the magical…

And it was seriously disconcerting.

**...**

Upon stepping out of the tent, Hermione's right hand immediately went to the low neckline of her dark green chiffon blouse in an ineffective attempt to hide what the girls had cheekily labelled "the English Rose's velvety peaches." "You should be proud of your assets and not always try to hide them behind nondescript shirts! How do you hope to attract men?" had chimed a seventy-year old, stooping woman.

Hermione had just humoured them as they made her try all kinds of outfits, before the one she wore finally struck an appreciative cord in all of her merry stylists. It was called a lengha, the girls had said. Her midriff was left bare and the satiny, silver embroidered crimson skirt hugging her hips fell to the ground. "No need of a covering Dupatta for you," they had pronounced when Hermione had been on the point of taking the accompanying long scarf with her. "Just the eye-catching skirt and sensual blouse is perfect! Such beautiful skin you have! You look stunning."

Never had she felt more exposed, Hermione thought. She had hoped that the thick pieces of jewellery she had seen in the dressing pavilion would help cover her to some extent, but to her great astonishment, she was told none of those who were yet unmarried were allowed to wear jewellery this night. "You'll see why later." She did not even benefit from the shielding curtain of her hair, which had been exquisitely arranged in a loose bun with unravelling curls.

Outside, the busy activities had briefly ceased. Having beautifully decorated the camp, all the men and women were getting themselves ready for an evening that still very much remained a puzzle for Hermione.

The sound of a tinkling male laughter, half-smothered by the gushing cascade, spurred her on. She would recognise that voice anywhere. Once near the waterfall, Hermione peered down the slopes made up of huge, smooth-edged boulders in between which grew tufts of flowering grasses. And she was blown away…

There, on the edge of the fast-flowing torrent, a great sabre-toothed panther lithely pounced onto Draco as they playfully wrestled each other. His shoulder-length blond hair provided a splendid contrast against the gleaming, obsidian coat of the magnificent beast. Laila, he called and taunted her. From the bright light of the waning moon, Hermione could make out their features quite clearly.

Draco had changed. He wore khaki cargo jeans and a dark brown shirt with the sleeves pulled up till his elbow. His injury had been dressed and lightly bandaged. He bent down and scooped a handful of water, but sensing what he was about to do, Laila smoothly jumped onto another boulder – one that brought Hermione into his line of vision. With a deafening growl, which Hermione herself could plainly construe as annoyance for having had Draco's attention so snatched away, Laila nipped disapprovingly at Draco's leg and bundled off into the forest.

Though clothed, his penetrating stare made her feel downright denuded. A slight motion with his wand caused the little water still in his hand to soar towards Hermione. She gasped in wonder as she felt minute bubbles instantly burst and fizz against her bare, burning skin. Her eyelids closed on their own. It was just a charm with water, but it felt so dangerously intimate, as if he had somehow physically touched her. She felt that betraying, honeyed languor slowly spreading in her veins. She was rooted to the spot. Her head felt messed up. The blouse she had formerly felt to be too revealing now felt way too constrictive. If he were to come up and…loosen it, she wouldn't mind in the least. If he were to come up and kiss her senseless…She might do anything…

Minutes trickled by. Realising she was breathing too hard, Hermione forced herself to regain composure. Swallowing, she slowly opened her eyes. Draco was gone. She was grateful for that. She lightly shook her head. Her ears gradually reacquainted themselves with the sounds of the waterfall. The people who formed the Gypsy Caravan were out and reorganising themselves.

Again, she felt a shameful prickling at the back of her eyes. She had no explanation as to why she had reacted so violently to a simple tease of his. It had happened again – blocking out the rest of the world just for a sense…a feeling of his being near, like in the bus – but this time he was not even next to her! The shock was not wearing off, and, on top of that, she felt confused and not a little scared.

What was happening to her? Who could she talk with? Should she send an owl to Ginny? Luna? Mrs Weasley? No! They would be full of questions for her, and she wouldn't know from where to start explaining. Merlin! It had only been a day since she had come across Draco Malfoy! It made no sense for her react so strongly to every little thing he did! But nothing right now was making sense! Draco was Ladon Hydras. She hadn't thought long and hard over it but, all along, the name Ladon had not been chosen at random. In Greek mythology, Ladon was the serpent-dragon guarding the Garden of Hesperides, and according to Hyginus's book Astronomica, Ladon represented the constellation Draco.

**...**

Half an hour later, fifty people sat at a long table for dinner. Marcus presided over the noisy, open air banquet. Draco was seated next to him. Even though all the men wore oriental-styled items of clothing, he didn't—as if his blond head of hair, silvery eyes, and ridiculously handsome face were not enough to make him stand out. Hermione had, on purpose, chosen a seat at the other end of the table, avoiding at all cost to look in the direction of the attractive serpent. She was trying to put her earlier resolve into practice – no more giving importance to him, no more staring at him, no more wondering what he was thinking about; she would have preferred not to have anything to do with him, but the circumstances rendered that impossible for the time being. She needed his help to find the _Lovers' Heart_. She had not yet gotten around to asking him about attending the Wizard World Conference, had still not asked him what more he knew about the Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World. She had outright behaved as if _he_ was a Wonder. But no more of that. It was time she got a firm hold of herself.

The young fellow seated next to her was very obviously vying for her attention. Faking a blithe nonchalance, she started conversing with him. They were joined by the other women and men nearest to them. Soon, their end of the table was abuzz with laughter and lively conversations. Hermione thought her evening was a frank success until Marcus got up and tapped his wand against a crystal glass. A palpable hum of anticipation swept across the table, leaving Hermione utterly perplexed.

"Hear! Hear, my lovely folks, with these taps, I declare the beginning of our Oriental Night! I hope we all have a most memorable one! I'm afraid I'm too old, and too married, to take part in the beginning rites. You single ones, go ahead! Have fun!" With this, a bright orange spark flew out the end of Marcus's wand. At once, the table along with the plates, spoons, forks and glasses disappeared. They got up in time as even their seats evanesced into thin air.

"What's happening?" Hermione asked in hushed tones to no one in particular. They all watched amazed as enormous logs rearranged themselves in a wide circle and ensconced themselves in the ground. The various floating lights about the place acquired a soft shade.

"Your man adorns you," a woman whispered back.

"I beg your pardon? My—my man?"

"Ssshh, come." The women were ushered into the space made by the logs. The men stood outside the circle. Still quite flummoxed, Hermione found herself in the centre of the excited females. Soon, multi-coloured star-shaped papers rained down upon them. "Grab a fistful, but whisper your name to only one of them," somebody instructed. Hermione did as she was told, and her name shone a rich gold in the middle of a purple star. "Now release it with all the others. The man who catches your star will be the one who will adorn you."

What did that mean? Hermione thought, alarmed.

"It's all good fun, really. Go on, release your star," another giggling voice urged, seeing how tightly she held onto the star-shaped parchment bearing her name. Very much undecided, Hermione watched as the women around her let go of their stars. The men jumped and scrambled about in a bid to catch the star they wanted. "The _Accio!_ spell is not allowed," someone imparted. Hermione couldn't help sharing the mirth of the women as she noticed that sly, leg-entangling jinxes too were being used in the merciless battle to capture the much-desired stars.

Draco kept himself apart from the melee, swirling the last of the crushed ice in his drink before unhurriedly draining the crystal glass. Many an eye was on him, Hermione noticed. Married couples, too, stood apart watched the goings-on with deep amusement.

"You know what, of all these couples you see standing there, more than half of them have started like us. It is said that, if you put your heart into it, the star reaches to the man with whom your fate is interlinked," one of the girls said to Hermione.

"Of course not!" someone else interjected. "It just gives you an opportunity to spend eight minutes alone with a man…and I suppose you can get to know him better—not that on any other day you would not get the opportunity to talk to him or whatever. We are not conservative or anything. It is just that because we make all this fuss about Oriental Night, it makes those eight minutes seem more special."

"Eight minutes?" Hermione was even more lost. Nobody answered, though, as they anxiously watched Draco walking to where they stood. Hermione was somehow relieved to know that he was indeed participating. The other men momentarily ceased their scuffles.

"So, ladies, where are your names?" Draco asked. At once, a deluge of stars made their way towards him. Hermione unconsciously let her own star free, thinking how the scheming girls had formerly urged her to release her star while they themselves withheld the ones onto which they had whispered their names. One of Draco's arms shot in the air, and his fingers enclosed around a piece of parchment. He left the ensuing ruckus, causing a wave of wishful sighs amongst the girls. Everybody was left wondering which name he had drawn.

A few minutes later, all the men had managed to find a star. One by one, they called the name of the women whose star they had caught, flashing the paper itself as proof. Then, each couple thus formed shortly Disapparated together.

There were now only five men and five women left. Draco opened his fist, hiding the colour of the paper from the eyes of the rest of them. Hermione's heartbeats notched up to near frantic.

"Who is the girl…" Draco trailed, with a puzzled expression on his face - the forceful disappointment which washed over Hermione at this point left her reeling – "…called Hermione?"

Hermione's down bent head shot up. She did not want to figure out why, all of a sudden, elation coursed through her. But Draco was not looking at her. He accosted one of the girls. "Are you Hermione?" he asked in a hopeful voice.

"Sadly, I'm not," came the giggling answer.

"You must be Hermione!" he said to another girl. "Uh- uh," the other shook her head from side to side, chuckling.

_He should stop that—stop saying her name._

Approaching yet another girl: "So you lovely lady must —"

Hermione had had enough. She turned away and started marching off. Always providing the source of his entertainment! What was this fuss all about? Oriental Night and what not? She was going home – very very very far from him. She did not want to be responsible, reliable Hermione anymore. She would just go and hide somewhere.

Wait…why should she hide?

Someone caught hold of her fingers, stopping her in her tracks. He didn't just catch hold of her; he leisurely intertwined his own fingers with hers, forcing her to look at him.

"So you are Hermione?" Because he was speaking so softly, and because he looked so very serious, Hermione just nodded meekly. To Hermione's surprise, he burst out laughing.

"You know, even if you did not confirm it, I wouldn't have thought you were Hagrid, or Longbottom, for that matter."

"Ha ha ha, very funny; let me go!"

"You cannot go." He was grave again. "See this?" he asked, showing Hermione the purple star with her name written in gold on it. "It gives me exactly eight minutes to ravish you." With that staggering statement, he Disapparated, taking her with him.

**...**

They Apparated next to a huge tree whose branches were lit with lustrous candles in the shape of apples. Other than the tree, all around was a forbidding darkness few would dare to venture in. The play of light and shadows cast a dapple light upon Draco. A few seconds must have passed since they Apparated, and all he had done was stare at her. The predatory gleam in his eyes thoroughly unsettled her. She was unaware of her legs retreating until she found herself stumbling against the tree.

At once, Draco caught hold of her wrists and pinned them against the wooden bark. Hermione swallowed. Hadn't they just mere hours earlier been up a tree, even at one point unintentionally hugging each other? And yet, here she was now, feeling just like an entrapped doe would when faced with a famished wolf.

"What do you mean…ravish?" she gushed nervously.

Draco approached just ever the closer, so that he was the nearest he could be with her, without them actually touching, save for his hands which still firmly pinned her wrists.

"You smell of jasmine."

"Who is Jasmine?" Hermione hissed indignantly.

"You smell of the flower, Granger." She felt Draco smiling against her hair. "Did I say I was going to ravish you?"

"You—you did."

"Should I proceed then?"

"You really think I would let you?" Hermione tried hard not to let her voice tremble.

"I wasn't planning on asking permission."

"And why—why would you do that? Haven't you previously reminded me who you were? Aren't you the one forgetting now—forgetting who I am; how you've labelled me? This situation is ridiculous. We…" Hermione broke off, not knowing how to phrase her turmoil. Why was there so much bitterness in her words? Who would have known one day she would bring both of them so close, in a single two-letter word, as 'we'?

"'Draco Malfoy is acting out of character.' Is that what you are telling yourself?" he breathed next to her ear, causing fine tendrils of hair to undulate against her temple. A drop of perspiration trickled blithely down her back. "Or, does the brilliant Hermione Granger thinks _she_ is acting out of character. Is that what she fears?"

How would another person react, Hermione wondered, in attempt to quell the growing need she felt for an oxygen mask, if the person found herself in her place? What would another girl do? Would she be able to break free from her tormentor's imprisoning hold? Wouldn't such an effort be doomed to failure when said enemy stood so close to her she could actually count the eerie sparks of azure in his grey eyes, when she felt as if she was getting drunk by merely meeting his gaze?

How could that girl possibly keep her wits about when the cool silver of his belt buckle lightly smooched the bare skin of her midriff?

"It's—it's you…your whole person is not making sense to me!" she confessed with candour. She felt his hold on her wrists tighten and his belt buckle dig a touch deeper into her exposed skin. "Don't you see? I am the same Hermione Granger you've hated with all your might, and, six years later, you and me here…it seems unreal, impossible. You are Draco Malfoy! Somehow, someone must have cast charm on me…Or have I been trapped in _Foliage's Deceit_ whilst crossing the jungle?" She searched Draco's eyes for signs that she was on the correct track. Indeed, the only way out of _Foliage's Deceit_ was to first realize that one was under an illusion in the first place. Once one became aware of that, it was relatively easy to cause the illusion to disintegrate. This attractive Draco Malfoy in front of her could be nothing but her imagination. The emotional mayhem caused by this man might just be a result of the magical plant's hallucination-inducing properties.

"Foliage's Deceit," Draco contemplated. "If you are really caught in one, then you must be one heck of a witch to realize it after merely a day and a half. Those who have been trapped in the past have been known to spend years lost in imaginary worlds before they became aware of their self-deception."

He was right. Nobody could break free within such little time. The _Foliage's Deceit_, a rare tiny plant found in dense jungles, managed to create the strongest of illusion in the minds of people. It was strange but as the person dreamt he ate and drank, he remained alive even without consuming a tangible morsel of food. If she were in an illusion, it should have dispersed in this instance. But the blond devil still had her wrists pinioned under his hands, their bodies still shockingly close, his maddening cologne still drawing her to the end of Sanity Street, where, no doubt, a vertiginous cliff opened onto the vast Ocean of the Forbidden.

"You are real." Relief swept through Hermione before she fiercely started berating herself. She had been stupid musing about _Foliage's Deceit_aloud, and it was impossible for Draco not to pick up on her silly slip-up.

"I wonder why you thought of _Foliage's Deceit_. Why would I have figured so prominently in your imaginary world? Why would you be fantasizing about my pinning you to a tree? Do your dreams and fantasies usually have such tantalizingly telling twists and turns?"

A paper boat about to sink in a tarn of shame, that's how she felt like. What could she possibly reply?

"I—I just—you have to admit that we meeting like this after so long has some unreal quality to it. When I set out in my quest to find Ladon Hydras, I could never have foreseen coming across you, and least of all, that you turn out to be the famous wizard the rest of the world is dying to know about. " Famous did not quite capture the essence of his impact on the Wizarding World; illustrious would have been more fitting!

"Well tried, Granger, but you won't throw me off track. Am I right in assuming that when you slip into your warm covers at night, you have illicit dreams which usually involve me?"

"No, that's not—"

"Scorching…"

"Wh—?"

"Illicit."

"Draco?"

"Flesh, pleasure, screams, secret…" Draco enumerated. "Choose any one of your fantasies containing those six basics. I'll endeavour to make it come true, adding 'unforgettable' to that list, en passant."

Hermione swallowed again.

"Haha-You—you can't be serious."

"I'm not. But I'm still thinking…"

"What are you thinking?"

"You really want to know?" He was grave all of a sudden.

"Yes…"

"How easy it would be, Granger; how easy it would be to ravish you. You wouldn't know how to resist. So easy for me to unbutton this blouse of yours, so easy for me to hitch up this flowing skirt of yours. So easy to undo your hair, to make you unravel at the seams. So easy to envelope you in a heat too overwhelming to hold onto the thin edge of consciousness…"

A thrumming silence weaved its way between them.

The eerie breeze swishing amidst the branches of the tree caused the quaint apple-shaped candles to shudder, as though they were afraid somebody might take a bite out of them. Dried leaves rustled against the hem of Hermione's skirt, shyly brushing against her ankles.

"Why?" she felt compelled to ask him again.

"You cannot be that naïve, Granger."

The tremors that caught hold of Hermione's body came out of nowhere. Draco immediately let go of her wrists and lifted her chin.

"Granger, are you all right?" he asked anxiously. Hermione wouldn't meet his eyes. He was right, she thought. His words touched a deep chord inside, and it all rang true. She felt vulnerable, weak and no longer master of herself. As she would not break down in front of him, to find an outlet to her seesawing emotions, her traitorous body had resorted to shameful shudderings.

To her utter shock, Draco did something absolutely scandalous. He bent down and kissed the tiny mole right next to her navel, and the one on the side of her neck, and the one on the upper side of her breast in quick succession. The explosion of sensation which hit Hermione was so great that she was herself stunned when her body seemed to generate an automatic response to Draco's insolent piece of daring. He was sent waltzing through the air, out of Hermione's sight.

He must have been projected a good ten metres in that foreboding darkness, thought Hermione. Good for him! She had inadvertently performed wand-less magic: the type of magic which either underage wizards unintentionally did, or, in her case, the sudden feel of his lips on those particularly sensitive parts of her body had set off a powerful knee-jerk reaction – as if her body had been in dire need of shielding itself from what it deemed to be a deadly sensory assault.

Hermione started growing apprehensive. Draco should already have traipsed back from his little misadventure. Yet, she could make out no movement. Not even the sound of dry leaves crunching, which could give her a clue as to what he was up to. She walked in the direction in which she saw him disappearing. Soon, her thin ballet-flats bumped into one sturdy, very male-like boot. Why was he so silent? Had he hurt himself?

"Draco, what do you think you are doing down there?"

"Dancing reggae. Care to join me, Granger?"

"You sound vexed," remarked Hermione, chuckling.

"Guess it won't be so easy after all," he said with a touch of self-derision. "I suppose we're lucky we are not far from the Gypsy Caravan. It seems wand-less magic doesn't trigger the forest's defensive charms."

Hermione had forgotten about it being forbidden to use magic in that enchanted region!

"Well, don't blame me for that! It's entirely your fault! I see there is indeed substance to the rumours about Ladon Hydras' philandering ways!"

"I wasn't actually romancing you, Granger."

"What was that, then?"

"Give me your hand, will you?" Hermione did so, and he lithely pulled himself up. Both walked back to the illuminated tree. Once there, Draco did not let go of her. He took out a burnished gold cuff in the shape of a cobra and slowly drew it past Hermione's right wrist and elbow, securing it around her upper arm.

"Kissing you was the best counter to the tremors which caught hold of you. It is strange. Why did my words have such an effect on you?" Next he took out a thin waist chain, gold again, with a small ruby heart on the side. He slid the chain around her belly, his fingers only very lightly brushing against her sensitive skin as he fastened its clasp.

She would have liked to answer him, but she was busy sucking in her breath and fruitlessly trying to prevent herself from letting any embarrassing sound escape her mouth. She also kept her eyes averted – anything to not look at him. He seemed to understand her predicament, for he did not press her with an answer when she very clearly avoided answering his question.

"Why—why eight minutes?" she asked. She had understood what 'your man adorns you' meant, but not why they had eight minutes.

"Simple really. Just because the names are whispered on stars with eight sides."

"I see. How is it possible you caught my star?"

"I cheated."

"How? Why?"

He did not answer. His fingers tightened on her bare waist. A blaze was slowly taking shape inside his eyes.

"Granger…" he whispered her name. Tension oozed from his body.

"What is it, Draco?" Hermione's question was barely audible. She was having difficulty breathing, with his hands fully splayed on the sides of her waist.

"I'm letting you go. Disapparate to the Gypsy Caravan. Now." He abruptly freed her and took a step back. His eyes glittered. Never had a warning been more clear and urgent. Danger. It was dangerous to be near him at that moment. Each moment delayed in heeding his advice threatened to propel her into the blaze.

In a loud clap, Hermione was gone.

She was back to the Gypsy Caravan. Someone rushed to hold her up, wobbly as her legs were, it seemed as if she would have fallen over. She'd come back to safety, and yet, it felt as if only her body were here, her mind and consciousness seemed to have stayed there…facing him.

**...**

The resounding clap behind Hermione signalled Draco's return. He walked past her, that cursed man, as if without a care in this wide world.

"Djarina, please give some of your fortifying potion to the frail English Rose. Every time the wind picks up, her lovely petals are in danger of being swept away."

And of course, he did not forget to add some tongue-in-cheek remark for his own amusement.

No sign whatsoever that he had only minutes ago summoned an earthquake and flung her at the heart of its tremors without an ounce of pity.

"Thank you. You can release me now. I'm fine," Hermione said somewhat stiffly to the young girl who had helped her regain her balance. Enough, she wouldn't show any of those puzzling, newfound weaknesses she had discovered she had where he was concerned.

He was mad; stark, raving mad; an unrestrained madman.

"Miss, are you all right?"

"Yes, I told you I'm fine! Why do you ask?" Hermione snapped irritably.

"It is just that you are breathing so hard, it wouldn't surprise me to see steam coming out of your nose and ears. And you are staring at Draco's back as if you wanted to burn holes in his shirt," the girl observed, laughing.

"Not his shirt; his skin. I would reduce him to ashes if I could," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"Come along now, Miss. We were waiting for just you two. Your snake arm cuff is splendid! And so is your belly chain! Oh my. The eyes of the snake are blue garnets! And this heart in your belly chain, it is a red diamond. Oh, it is of the purest red! I can recognise these gems; I have worked with a Wizarding Bank in the past. These are very rare, and very expensive! I envy you," Djarina gushed on excitedly as she examined the two pieces of jewellery Draco had made Hermione wear.

Hermione had not had time to inspect them herself. Her attention had been captured by a pair of piercing silvery opals.

_Purest red_, Djarina had said. Why did that ring a bell? _Of course_, Hermione clapped her hands, the _Lovers' Heart_! The Wonder is rumoured to be made of red diamond! Had Draco already found it? Was she actually wearing a piece of the Wonder?

No, he couldn't possibly be as careless with a Wonder as that, could he? And yet, hadn't he given the _Papyro Ithicus_ to her, a document wizards would be ready to die just to look at, as if it were just a piece of unimportant parchment? And if he had already found the Wonder, why would he agree to help her find it?

How could Hermione hope to figure out this wild, dangerous man?

When one, surrounded by witches and wizards, still thought to describe an evening as magical, then it meant that one was living something quite out of the ordinary.

The last story, told by one very talented story teller called Weir, had been about a pair of Muggle lovers who have had to fight black magic in order to reunite. There had been no disdainful scoffs about the story's main protagonists being Muggles, no manifestation of disgust over their struggle to fight hexes and spells wizards could readily counter. Instead, the moving tale had drawn wishful sighs and sympathetic comments over the sacrifices the lovers readily made for each other's sake. Hushed murmurings filtered their ranks after the particularly moving recital, the last strains of which still floated in the air with a strange melancholy…

"_Yes, without ever asking for it, true love always commands respect. It is an ancient magic that nobody can learn. It can be felt, however, by a few rare souls. Oh, it is a grave mistake to think that those who do find true love are simply fortunate. Chance or luck has nothing to do with this mysterious magic. It is said that those souls have gone through abyssal pain. In their human form, they were beings who bared their hearts until no safe, unscarred, corner was left; they accepted suffering in its entirety._

_And then, through some strange workings of the Universe, when these individual beings have suffered so much that the very atoms of their souls are in danger of being torn to smithereens, two of these beings are pushed together at the peak of their agony. They are balms to each other, and from the time they come together, though they have different forms in different births, they know each other intimately. They recognise each other. And from then on, it is impossible for them to live without each other._

_There is nothing more beautiful or more powerful than true love. That love which binds two souls. Even good ole Eternity bows to it. It is a frightening, all-encompassing, fiery poison whose cure lies in the reunion of the lovers. Muggles or Wizards, when faced with true love, are made into fools, magicians, madmen, sages and even murderers. But who are we to judge them? Nobody._

_Oh, if you want to experience it, then, be not shy to open your heart. Be not shy to have it scratched, cut or bled. Learn to be compassionate, even if having a compassionate heart almost always exposes you to intense suffering. Dare to suffer on behalf of other creatures. Dare to cry, and dare to help. Be not shy to open your minds. Trample over every boundary you've created in there. Cease viewing yourself as belonging to a particular race, community, or country. Dare to think of yourself as a mysterious glimmer under the stars and moons and suns. Live fully. Love without conditions, just like our two lovers in this tale did..."_

Hermione absently twirled the light peach cocktail she had been drinking, faintly smiling to herself. She had been looking down in her glass quite a lot these last minutes. She couldn't really help it. With the ending of each poem, song, or story, it seemed as if the distance between her and the one who sat opposite her kept reducing. All the women sat on logs in a single row, and in an opposing row, at about three metres from them, sat all the men. The couples who had been on the eight-minutes escapades were to sit facing each other. With the Universe thus plotting to upset her plans about avoiding him, Hermione couldn't hope to succeed.

"There is no such thing as true love, Weir. It is sheer romantic nonsense for gullible idiots," Draco scornfully interjected, drawing all eyes to him. Weir, a wizard in his late forties, looked somewhat piqued to have the mellow atmosphere his audience had been basking in until then ruffled. Straightening his shoulders, he appeared ready to respond to whatever nettle Draco was going to pitch in his way. "If this thing you call true love really exists, then it is so common as to not merit the praises you sing of it."

"Cynical Draco. If you want my opinion, it is not true love that you are talking about, but romantic love in general. Casanova as you are Draco, you don't even seem to believe in love."

"Why draw a distinction, Weir? With so many couples around us tonight, are you trying to say that their love can never be all-powerful? You love Sara so little as to believe she is not your true love?" Draco drawled mockingly.

"My love for Sara might last this lifetime. And that's about it, even if I would wish to know her for many more lives! I love her, but I know it would end once I die. But those who experience true love are not affected by the barriers of life, death or time."

"You are wrong, Weir. If you really dared to love, then you wouldn't have let your love be anything but true. You wouldn't have been satisfied with simply being content that a few rare souls have the privilege of knowing what true love is. You wouldn't have been happy with only finding a companion to love and who will love you just in this life. If you really believe true love exists, why don't you fight to achieve it?"

"If I had a fiery flame like the one which burns in you, Draco, I might," Weir said. "But common mortals like me can only read from books and dream about it."

"Why preach it when you can't practise it?" Draco derided heatedly.

"Now, El Dragon Principe, haven't you had a bit too much of that liver-burning brew of Helena's?" Marcus lightly rebuked the blond wizard. "What are you so angry about? Weir was just telling a story, and we all rather enjoyed it. Isn't love something to be celebrated? True love or not, isn't it a beautiful emotion? You tell us, Miss Granger, do you believe in true love?"

Taken by surprise by the question so suddenly put to her, Hermione could only blink. She had been quite entranced by the "fiery flame" in Draco as he had hotly chided Weir. Well, did she believe in true love? She hadn't really thought about it. Love is love, isn't it? Did she love Ron? Yes, of course she did! But…what type of love was it? The type Weir had described he felt for Sara? Or the type Draco had rebuked him for preaching but not pursuing?

As she opened her mouth to speak, she couldn't help but look in Draco's direction. Immediately, she was besieged by a sensation best described as one which is usually experienced when walking in a silent room full of burning candles; as if she had suddenly become a mesh and would soon be catching an indolent flame.

"I do believe in true love," Hermione said. She had been planning to talk more about romantic love in general and the passionate true love Weir had talked about, but, eerily enough, that one sentence was all that was drawn out from her.

Was it the liquor that made Draco's eyes look as if they were literally on fire? She couldn't look away from him, even as she desperately tried to do so.

"Love. It's a stupid joke." Draco let out a harsh, sardonic laugh. "A damn joke played since time immemorial." He suddenly got up, picking the crystal bottle filled with liquor which was right next to him. Advancing towards Hermione, his voice became louder. "A sorry excuse for lust." And angrier. "An unimaginative invention. A sordid illusion. A banal farce. You think you love, when all you do is lust. You all have great theories on love, but you do not even dare approach it. You don't dare to be burnt alive. If you did, you wouldn't have been full of all-knowing words as you are eager to show you possess."

Once in front of Hermione, he slowly leaned down so that he could look at her at eye level.

"True love? I say to hell with it, Miss Granger," Draco said in a smooth, razor-like tone. He abruptly turned and flung the bottle of liquor in the direction of the waterfall. The sound of glass shattering against rocks reverberated in all their hearts.

Then, as if he had not just given a very public display of volatile temper, he turned on his heels and regained his seat. "' You hesitate to stab me with a word, and know not - silence is the sharper sword,'" quoted Draco.

"Here, fifty galleons for you, Mister!" The girl seated next to Hermione walked over to Draco.

"Aren't you forgetting something else, darling Theresa?"

"And the kiss!" she laughed as she kissed Draco's cheek.

At last, everybody began to clap. Hermione, however, was once again left wondering about what had just happened. She had been as shocked by Draco's explosive behaviour as the rest of the audience, but unlike her they seemed to now know the reason behind it all.

"That was a fine piece of acting, El Dragon Principe! You were wonderful! Few ever manage to catch us by surprise, as you just did," one of the women said, and all the others readily agreed.

"Excellent!" bellowed Marcus. "It's true, you know. It's been a while since anyone has quite managed to fool us. You seem very puzzled, Miss Granger!"

"I—yes." Then, addressing Draco, Hermione said in an incredulous tone, "you were acting?"

"What else do you think it was, Granger? Do I come across as the type to rage about true love and that sort of thing?"

No. She supposed he did not.

"I'll explain to you, little woman!" Marcus cried. "On nights such as these, as you've seen, some recite poems, some sing, and others tell stories. There are those who choose to act, but it is not allowed if anyone of us manages to see into the acting. It has to catch us unawares, the way our naughty Dragon Prince has just managed to do. The last time a piece of acting has had a similar effect on us was about four years ago, I think. Theresa was the one who got us all really anxious with her acting the part of a mad woman!"

"You made a bet with Draco, Theresa?" one of the men asked.

"Right, a bit earlier in the evening. I was on the lookout for when he would get up and start acting, and I would just point out that he was acting. But he did excellently well by pretending at first to be engaging into a conversation with Weir. He was so good that, even prepared as I was, I couldn't help falling for it! "

"No offence there, Weir," Draco walked over to the man in question and extended his hand in good natured comradeship. The man, however, got up and briefly hugged Draco.

"Of course not! That was really great, man. I thought I had offended and upset you!"

Another round of colourful cocktails and cakes was served on floating platters. Everybody was back in their seat.

"It is past midnight, folks. We'd have to call it a night soon. The Caravan would be leaving early at six this morning. Who wants to delight our ears one last time?"

An Arabian-looking woman, wearing a purple and green caftan got up. Hermione, stifling her nerves and doing a quick mental recap of what she had been asked to say, got to her feet as well. Using her wand, the woman conjured a tiny piano, which at once started playing a sorrowful tune. In a soft, lilting voice, she began talking.

"We have mostly talked about love this evening. It seems fitting to end our gathering with a short poem I recently came across. It is in Urdu. After each sentence of mine, lovely Hermione will be reciting it in English. To achieve the full effect of the poem, I will request you to look into the eyes of the person you are paired up this evening, and to sustain that gaze throughout."

_Garmi-e-hasrat-e-nakaam say jal jaatey hain_

The Deepest of desires in failures burn

_Hum charaghon ki tarhan shaam say jal jaatey hain_

I am like the lamp scorched by the night

_Shamma jis aag mai jalti hai numaish kay liye_

Like an ornate candle consumed in fire for the sake of exhibition

_Hum usi aag mai gumnaam say jal jaatey hain_

In that same fire, anonymous, without name, I burn

_Jab bhi aata hai mera naam teray naam kay saath_

Whenever my name is joined with yours

_Jaaney kyon log meray naam say jal jaatey hain_

I wonder why the world, because of my name, with envy burn

...


	17. Chapter 16: An Unforgettable Sunrise

"Hurry! Run! Run! He's going to harm you! Come with me!" Hermione shouted at the two little children, who she half-carried, half-dragged with her. She had to escape at all cost. Draco was nearing. He hated them. He was going to hurt them. Hermione did not know where she was going. She was scarcely aware of her surroundings. The only thing she knew was that she had to get those children away from that cruel pursuer.

"Stop!" shouted the wicked hunter. He was much too close.

"_Impedimenta!_" cried Hermione, pointing her wand behind her without looking, and hoping it would hit its target.

"Granger, wait!" His cries were becoming more desperate. Hermione couldn't listen to him. She had to protect these children.

She was forced to stop in her tracks when she shortly found herself at the edge of a huge precipice. The children were gone. A yawning, misty valley stretched beneath her. To her great horror, it seemed as if her feet wouldn't obey her orders to stop; they were inexorably slipping towards that great void!

She was going to fall, and she couldn't do anything about it.

All of a sudden, she felt a strong arm snap around her waist. He drew her close to him. They were both breathing hard.

"Who is going to save you now, Granger?" Draco challenged.

She was not quite safe. Even though he held her, he had not stepped back to firmer grounds. Her feet still faced the gaping abyss. If he wished, he could easily let go of her.

Hermione felt the arm around her waist start to loosen. She desperately grasped at his hands. She couldn't do anything. He released her into the void. She was falling.

…..

Hermione woke up with a start. She glanced at her wrist watch. Only thirty minutes had passed since she had gone to bed. She had not even changed! A lamp with a blue fire at its centre timorously lit her tent.

"Vade retro, Draco! Catching hold of me only for the pleasure of being the one to push me down the cliff," Hermione mumbled. In addition, it wasn't like her to behave as irrationally as she did in the first part of the dream; his voice clearly indicated he meant no harm, but she was simply being headstrong! Sleep had flown away now.

The Oriental Night had come to an end about an hour ago, at half past midnight. She had tossed and turned in her makeshift bed and, upon closing her eyes, had landed in that strange dream.

_Oh well, when are dreams anything but strange? _she wondered aloud as she made her way out.

…..

Hermione saw the Gypsy Caravan's chieftain walking towards her.

"Can't sleep, little lady?" Marcus inquired.

"Oh, I just came outside for some fresh air, thank you for asking."

"Hmmm. It is a beautiful night. You might as well keep company to our brooding Prince there." He pointed in the direction of the waterfall.

"Draco?"

"Sí," Marcus answered with a sad mien.

"Is anything the matter?" Hermione asked.

"I've been trying to persuade him to take some Sleeping Potion and have some rest. He doesn't agree. Hasn't agreed to it for years. A stubborn hot-head he is," Marcus said, shaking his head in defeat.

"A Sleeping Potion? He cannot sleep?"

"Sí. I haven't known him to sleep well in years, not until he's reached a state of absolute exhaustion after days and days of wakefulness."

"Do you know the reason why he cannot sleep?" Hermione was thinking about the previous night, when Draco had been leaning against the balcony at _The Passion Serpent_'s quarters, watching the stars. Though he had taken leave of her company, he had not seemed on the point of going to sleep then as well.

"You'd better ask him yourself, mujercita," Marcus said with a sombre smile on his face. "I'll see you in the morning. Buenas noches."

"Goodnight."

Hermione took the direction Marcus had indicated. She soon reached the falls. The large chunks of wood on which they had sat earlier were still in place. The embers of a dying fire sizzled not far from where Draco, with his back to her, stood leaning against a tree. _What was he thinking so intently about? _Hermione wondered.

Using her wand, Hermione rekindled the fire, and listened to its cheerful crackle. The stillness of the night caused her to hesitate.

He was the one she was more familiar with in this region of the world; yet, he had never been her friend. That was quite unthinkable. Impossible. She couldn't bring herself to just walk up to him and start asking him questions the way she would have readily done with any one of her friends at home. She had not earned the right to take such a liberty with him.

A wayward quiver ran through Hermione.

"Not very clever to stand out here in that outfit," Draco said quietly. His face was only partly turned. It's sharp, feline contour made him look dangerous…and forbidding.

"I'm not cold," Hermione replied.

"Missing Weasley in your bed, then?"

She didn't answer him immediately. She couldn't. Stunned realization rippled through Hermione. She briefly allowed herself to drown into the sounds of the gushing waterfall. It is fascinating how an insignificant rivulet at the source morphs into a cascade as it follows its course.

"You made a mistake, Draco."

"Mistake? I think not. Isn't your current insomnia induced by the absence of your regular bedmate? He isn't here to lullaby you with his snores," he said in a light gibe.

"That is none of your concern. And it is not what I alluded to. You made a mistake by allowing your mask to loosen just now."

For once, Hermione had clearly seen through Draco. He was trying to anger her. He was trying to scare her away. He had done it so many times before at Hogwarts and succeeded wonderfully. She and many others had willingly taken the bait. This time, he had been much too half-hearted in his attempt.

"You are an excellent actor, Draco. Now that I think of it, you've always been very good at acting."

"Praise from the enemy," he observed softly, still not fully looking at Hermione, as if he expected her turn on her heels at any moment.

"You've made Life itself your stage, haven't you? Continually keeping up the act must tire you out? Of course it must! Why would you have adopted the identity of Ladon Hydras, if not to have an excuse to be the real you under the cover of another name. Why have you not been to England for so long, if not because it tires you to act like a cruel, selfish, and bigoted person—the way many expect you to behave? It must have been exhausting to fool even the most perceptive of wizards. When have you ever been true, Draco?"

He finally turned to face her, realising he couldn't dismiss her by merely attempting to offend her. _Odd. It had always worked in the past. What's the use of rehashing all this, Granger? You've chosen your own path in life, and I've chosen mine. Why do you insist on seeing the best in everybody? Why do you insist on playing a dangerous game, whose outcome you might regret_, Draco thought.

"Your analysis has a semblance of perspicacity, but it is essentially faulty," Draco said, seating himself on the ground, with his back resting against one of the logs. He briefly closed his eyes. Hermione debated whether she should sit down next to him, and, at the same time, reprimanded herself for being indecisive over such an inane issue. But the heavens could probably understand her predicament.

A sense of hesitancy, acute self-consciousness, and a new, heightened awareness of the blond ex-Slytherin filled every second she spent near him. She had never, on her own accord, ever been close to Draco Malfoy. Yes, she had sat next to him on the haunted bus, but that had been because no other seat had been available. And _he_ had been the one who came to sit near her…

These were truly some surreal moments they were living. She couldn't stop doubting the present. Hermione took a deep breath and slid to the ground next to Draco. He had allowed his hands to rest on top of the log so that the icy, amber-coloured drink he held in his right hand was mere inches away from Hermione's bare upper arm. She felt its coolness permeate the air and nip at her skin.

"Which event or trait of character is the yardstick you use to measure that I have been acting all along, Granger? Do you know my so called _real self_ sufficiently enough to come up with such an imprudently absolving theory?"

"You have a point. I scarcely know you," Hermione relented. "But… even if you have not been putting up a façade to the world in the past, you have now, at least, changed."

The moment she finished her sentence, Hermione knew _she_ had somehow made a blunder. She knew she had angered him, and her intuition was proved right when he abruptly got up. She didn't need to look at his face. The way he clutched at the glass in his hand was in itself very revealing. His knuckles had gone white.

"Changed?" Draco erupted in fury. "Why do you think I have changed?" he continued in the same irate tone. "What do I need to change for? And why do you foolishly persist in assuming you know anything about me at all? Think you can read me like you so skilfully do with Potter and Weasley? Don't try to do that with me; you'll regret and you'll be sorry."

Hermione stood up facing him, forcing herself to smooth away the hurt his words had inflicted. "I just—I just meant you had changed in the sense that you no longer go about hurting people, but I might have been exceedingly rash," Hermione conceded. "Why are you so angry, Draco? You no longer go about calling me Mudblood, do you? You no longer refer to me as '_that_', like you did in the past, do you? And with your famous quarterly, you've helped thousands, haven't you? You've even helped Alice and Frank Longbottom. You should see how grateful Neville is. His parents had been tortured to near insanity. The _Anti-Cruciatus Potion_ you published four years ago in the first issue of _The Passion Serpent_ has enabled them to leave that ward in St Mungo's, which they've occupied for nearly twenty years! They recognise their son now! Your actions and all you've achieved clearly show one thing: that you regret all that has happened… that you'd wanted to redeem yourself. Am I wrong in saying that?"

"You've never been more wrong, Granger. I don't regret a thing. It is a useless emotion. In fact, I wasn't even happy the war was over. You look shocked. Good. Now, will you please leave?"

Draco had wanted to shock her, and he had not failed. In addition, most of what he'd told her was true. Granger was way too kind; 'regret' was a weak work. He remembered thinking, when he had been running away from Hogwarts like a dastardly coward the moment Dumbledore was killed, that there was no use in regretting…no use in regretting when you were the cause of many innocents' deaths. How many had died…were going to die… because he'd let Death Eaters into Hogwarts? He remembered stepping over a body he had believed to be lifeless… How much suffering had he caused? How many families would be grieving? It couldn't be put in numbers; pain cannot be measured in statistics. It turned out, however, that, other than the great Dumbledore and a Death Eater, nobody had died during the battle of the Astronomy Tower. Things could so easily have been chillingly different.

And, many more deaths _did_ occur…albeit about a year later.

If any other wrongdoer was genuinely repentant, that person (whatever the world thought, and whichever way the world judged him), through his heartfelt guilt, would certainly have been absolved. Where Draco himself was concerned, however, that particular emotion felt way too little. He didn't want to absolve himself. When the war was over, he hadn't felt any kind of relief; he'd felt as if he was the lowest of the low, and he probably was. Hatred, too, was a weak word to describe what he'd felt towards himself. He didn't want Hermione to probe into him. He didn't want to get used to her. He didn't want to delude himself into thinking she cared about him. Hermione Granger did not belong in his world; she'd never want to.

"I don't—I don't believe you," a staggered Hermione said in a faint voice. "No one had it in them to be happy at that time. We'd already lost so much."

"I am telling you again, I don't regret anything. If I regretted anything, it would have meant that I'd have wanted things to be different. And if things had been any different, if Voldemort hadn't been in the picture, if there'd been no Death Eaters, then there'd have been no Order of the Phoenix, there wouldn't have been that DA of yours. There are no heroes without villains, Granger."

"You are deliberately trying to sound superficial, aren't you? Who would ever want to be known, to be hailed as war heroes over the bodies of the people they love, over the bodies of innocents?"

"Perhaps no one. But I'm hardly the appropriate person to answer such a question. You forget I wasn't on the same side as you. The reality is, without all that has happened in the past, you wouldn't be the person you are today. And you most certainly would not be standing here, misguidedly trying to figure out truths and untruths, naively thinking I had changed...would want to change. You wouldn't have given a toss if I had not been Ladon Hydras."

Fine! If that is how you see things, who am I to say anything else?" Hermione said as she turned to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked. Hermione felt as if she was in the whereabouts of a treacherous typhoon; he dared to ask such a question after so curtly dismissing her.

"Granger?" he called when Hermione refused to answer.

"What do you want?" Hermione spun around, scowling at him.

"Stay."

"Why?"

"Stay," Draco repeated.

"Why should I?" Hermione insisted to know.

"Because I say so."

"Are you under the delusion that I'll listen to you?" Hermione resumed her firm gait.

"Granger," he called again. Was that a note of entreaty in his voice?

"What now?" she asked, exasperated.

"Sit." He nodded to where she had formerly been seated.

Hermione glowered at him and seemed ready to reject his monosyllabic request. However, she changed her mind, huffily walking past him and plopping herself down with a sigh. Her beautiful skirt generously covered the earth on both sides of her.

"What are you smiling for?" Hermione asked the blond devil. He wasn't quite smiling, but that barely-there twitch on his lips was enough to rattle her. Smiling Draco was scarier than angry Draco. She could deal with the latter one. She was clueless when it came to the former. Utterly clueless.

"Just…you are a study in contradictions," Draco declared.

"Are you faulting me?"

"No; that is a quality of yours, actually."

_He did it on purpose_, thought Hermione as Draco plunked himself down on part of her skirt. She tried to free the silky fabric from underneath him, but, looking away, he acted as if he was oblivious to it.

"Stop struggling, will you?"

"What did you call me back for?"

"Either you are very overly confident of your abilities, which is foolish, or you've truly forgotten what you are here for, which is rather strange, Granger," Draco said to Hermione.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you really have no questions regarding the Wonders? You were very adamant to talk to Ladon Hydras just the day before yesterday. You've all but forgotten about him ever since you met me," he asserted.

"Who says I've forgotten about him? And, anyway, you and him are the same person." Hermione quickly dodged dwelling on his astute observation. "Since we are on the subject, part of my assignment consists in convincing you to attend the Wizard World Conference, which is going to take place in three days' time." Hermione looked expectantly at Draco.

"And just…how are you going to convince me?" He suggestively surveyed the length of her body. She instantly regretted not having changed into her usual, prim attires. Her skin prickled all over, and a purple flush painted her skin.

"I—this is such a pressing matter. If the Wonders get into the wrong hands, the Wizarding World would be in major trouble!" Damn, she couldn't inject half as much firmness as she wanted in what she was saying when he so brazenly carried on mentally charting parts of her body.

Still, something in what she said seemed to register with him. He became serious all of a sudden.

"The _Peruvian Sun_ has been stolen, Granger."

"What?" Hermione cried shrilly. "But—I didn't hear any of it before leaving on Saturday. And it's Wednesday already; no one sent me an owl."

"It happened yesterday. Remember I received a message when we were at the Airavata's camp? It was from the Peruvian Branch of _The Passion Serpent_. Some of your Aurors stumbled upon the correct charnel house when they followed a distress signal, but the _Peruvian Sun_ was gone by then."

"My word! Why didn't you tell me earlier? Was anyone injured?" Hermione asked anxiously. Harry, Angelina, Parvati, Zabini and his friends were some of the Aurors she knew to be in charge of finding the Wonders.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Granger. None of the English Aurors were injured. The Peruvian Aurors were unconscious when they were found, but they should be fine."

"It must be great to be promptly made aware of whatever is happening across the world, isn't it?" Hermione couldn't help saying with a tinge of admiration. She was relieved no one had been wounded.

"Not half as great as it would have been if I knew—" he brusquely broke off.

"If you knew?"

"¡No importa!" he said mysteriously.

"Who could have stolen the Wonder? Is all this really linked to the gruesome murder which happened in Egypt? Was there really another _Papyro Ithicus_ being guarded there?"

"There was certainly an unknown creature guarding something very important. The place reeked of the remnants of powerful, ancient magic. The prehistoric drawings on the cavern walls further attest to that. As for who committed the murders while looking for the Wonders, one of the Peruvian Aurors, before losing consciousness, managed to identify Laurence Alcott as the one ordering the attack on them."

"He was indeed the prime suspect behind all this. But what about the other wizarding family who was killed in a similar modus operandi in England?"

"From what I've gathered, one of the murdered person was a wizard professor called Septimus. He was equally interested in Wizarding Archeology. Septimus was a colleague of Laurence Alcott, and he had been known to ridicule Alcott's fascination with the Wonders on a fair amount of occasions."

"I see. You will be coming to the Conference, won't you? You have valuable, first-hand information which is crucial to finding the Wonders. I have a formal invitation, of course. I'll go get it." Hermione made a move to get up, but Draco shook his head indicating she shouldn't bother. She was secretly glad she hadn't had to relinquish her place even temporarily. Why she felt that way was something she didn't want to examine.

"I might accept the invitation if we make it in time, or if we make it _at all_."

"Oh, that's right. Getting hold of a Wonder is quite perilous business. I have researched the _Lovers' Heart_, but there were mostly descriptions of its make and appearance; almost nothing about its location. Thankfully, we have the _Papyro Ithicus_ to help."

"It's in a tomb, Granger. The Lovers' Tomb. And there aren't pleasant things in tombs."

Hermione stared at him in amazement. "How did you find out?"

"A simple conjecture, but I'm pretty sure it's accurate. You are aware that in the ancient world Muggles lived alongside wizards." Draco did not wait for Hermione to confirm. "Five, six thousand years ago, a particular architectural structure was quite the fashion of the day. It was used to bury the dead and their treasures. You can guess what that is."

"Tombs, indeed!" Hermione supplied excitedly. "Not simple graves, the way we have now, but ornate, majestic tombs – the likes Egyptian Pharaohs were buried in at Giza. Tombs like those in ancient Mesopotamia, or the burial ground of Newgrange in County Meath, Ireland."

"Exactly. But the famous tombs you've mentioned would most certainly prove to be simple designs if you were to compare it with a tomb two whimsical, highly skilled, foolishly-in-love wizards would have come up with to hide their most precious creation."

"You are right. The _Lovers' Heart_, I found, is made of a very pure chunk of red diamond. The miniature heart in the waist chain you lent to me is of red diamond too. I thought-"

"You thought I found the _Lover's heart_ already and that I gave it to you?" Draco's eyes were full of mirth.

Hermione was embarrassed. Why on Earth would he have given something like that to her—a piece of a Wonder, no less? "Well, now that I think of it, it is impossible to break the _Lover's heart_ or even chip at it."

"Correct. By the way, I didn't _lend_ those pieces of jewellery to you. They _belong_ to you now."

"But I cannot possibly accept such rare and expen—"

"Chuck them down the river if you don't want them," he drawled coolly. "Mermaids living there would be delighted."

"I won't!"

Draco caught hold of Hermione's wrist and glanced at her watch. Her pulse jumped in surprise. "It's half past two; don't you have sleep to catch up on?"

"I'm not sleepy," Hermione grumbled moodily, still miffed by how easily he had told her to throw those splendid ornaments away.

"Why can't you sleep?" she ventured to ask.

"Marcus has been a blabbermouth again. Lack of sleep makes you bold and inappropriately curious, Granger. Aren't you tired of prying into other people's matters?" No one had reprimanded Hermione the way Draco had just done, and he had accused her of being meddlesome a couple of times already. She felt like a little child being scolded.

"You are tight-mouthed even after having imbibed all that liquor," Hermione reproached, nodding towards the self-filling tumbler in his hand. "I don't pry into other people's matters just for the sake of it. I only inquire when it is a matter of concern."

"_My_ not sleeping is a matter of concern to you?"

"_Anyone_ not being able to sleep would be a matter of concern to me. You should know that not sleeping considerably shortens your lifespan. A Sleeping Draught will help you to—"

"Who wants to live a long, happy life, Granger?" Draco remarked detachedly.

A moaning zephyr swept past them, as if in protest over what he had said. Silence followed. Draco's careless sentence had brought back Hermione's most recent dream; the one where he had let her fall down a gaping precipice. Curiously, when Draco had let go of her in the dream, she hadn't felt frightened. Right at this moment, however, she was persuaded that she was currently feeling some kind of delayed terror; the prospect of him dying stung like an unforgivable betrayal, as if he was pushing her from a great height.

"You look at me with such big, troubled eyes," Draco commented. Hermione quickly turned her head away from him.

"Granger?" Hermione wouldn't talk to him. "I didn't use a Silencing Charm on you, inamorata," he whispered.

"Hey?" Draco quietly entreated, leaning in closer to Hermione. He suddenly grew as still as a statue next to her. "Don't move, Granger," Draco cautioned almost inaudibly.

_What? Why is he asking me not to move? _Hermione thought as she blinked hastily in order to clear her clouded vision.

"Close your eyes," he further instructed. His complete stillness and the grave manner in which he spoke suggested that something was seriously wrong. Hermione thought better than to argue, for whatever danger he had spotted seemed to be near. With a pounding heart, she complied. Draco deftly reached for something on the other side of her, shortly regaining his seat. Was he teasing her?

"You can open your eyes, Granger. You've got a visitor; a king, no less!"

Puzzled, Hermione did as he asked and briskly recoiled in horror. Putting as much distance as she could between the imposing cobra Draco was busy examining and herself, she instinctively drew out her wand from the sheath she had attached to her leg.

"You're going to break his heart," Draco remarked as he kept perusing the faint markings of one of the longest, most intelligent, and deadliest species of snakes on earth. This one was easily four metres long. Still, it let Draco run his fingers on its olive-green skin. The King Cobra flared its striking hood as it sluggishly turned to face Hermione, uttering a loud, bone-chilling hiss which made her blood curdle.

"She says hello," Draco joked. "You won't return her greetings? It's a Queen, not a King," he pronounced, captivated. "And she knows you are a girl. She wouldn't have hissed at you, if you were not."

"You are mad!" spat Hermione, still quite stunned. The cobra sluggishly intertwined the upper part of its body around Draco's arm while it gazed at the brat prince with as much interest as he seemed to bestow upon it.

"Off you go." Draco released it a little while later, and turned to Hermione, who wore a suspicious frown on her face.

"In case you are wondering, I am not a Parselmouth," he said.

"But that was very clearly a wild snake, not some kind of pet. How can you just pick it up without it trying to aggressively defend itself?" Hermione questioned.

"The cobra didn't try to defend herself because I was not trying to attack her. She didn't feel threatened or provoked. I was curious about her, and she seemed as curious about me. We studied each other. That's all."

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" asked Hermione as she got back to her place next to him.

"More talkative now, aren't we? You went all silent on me earlier."

"That's—that's because—you are avoiding the subject!"

"You are doing the same."

"Fine. Don't tell me. You and the snake, it reminded me of the _Serpensortia_ spell you performed in our second year. I remember being amazed you could conjure up a live creature so early on."

"There was nothing difficult about it. I really wanted to scare Potter. Who would have known he could speak Parseltongue?"

"It was a shock for everybody."

Draco brought the highball glass to his lips, and appeared to savour the rich texture of his drink.

"I've been really nasty to you back at Hogwarts." It was a statement, not a question.

"You were," Hermione agreed.

"When did I refer to you as 'that'?" He had mostly banked on the offensive word 'Mudblood' when he'd addressed her at Hogwarts. If he'd used 'that', which he knew he had scarcely done, it must have been on an occasion when he'd been very jealous. He had been really vile back then; jealousy upon seeing Granger always with the other two, and her always taking their sides, had always made him want to hurt.

"It was in our fourth year, and the Yule ball was approaching. I was with Harry and Ron. You said: 'You're joking, Weasley! You're not telling me someone's asked _that_ to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?'"

Draco chuckled. "How could I have forgotten?"

"It wasn't funny," Hermione reprimanded.

"You called me 'twitchy little ferret' afterwards."

It was Hermione's turn to laugh. "You deserved it. It was nothing compared to what you used to turn up with. I was never inclined into the offensive, unlike some."

Draco smiled unapologetically. "You might not have made cruel comments back then, but I swear I can still feel the tingle from that exquisite slap you gave me in our third year." Draco lightly rubbed the side of his face.

Hermione was flustered. "You are not the only one with _no_ regrets."

"Ouch, thought I'd been turned into a hapless chopping board for a second," Draco said, amused. "But I'm curious. Why did you say I managed to fool the 'most perceptive of wizards'. Who were you thinking of?"

"You rarely let anything pass, do you? I suppose that's why you are so successful. My intuition, which you've strongly disagreed with, is that, even at school, there was much more to you than what you've let the world see. You've fooled many – even the teachers at Hogwarts. I don't know why, but I only realised it just earlier, and you are bent on denying that. I don't know why…" Hermione repeated, looking questioningly at Draco. "I had Professor Slughorn in mind when I said that. You must be his most famous, and, if he were to know it, surely the most regrettable oversight he's been guilty of. I wonder how he'd feel if he knew he neglected having Ladon Hydras in his Slug Club. Or maybe…" Hermione trailed, unsure whether she should voice out her thoughts, unwilling to touch upon a subject which might make Draco uncomfortable.

"Or maybe, he didn't want to have anything to do with Death Eaters, or the sons of Death Eaters," Draco completed for Hermione.

"I have never been too fond of Professor Slughorn. He is much too prejudiced for my liking," Hermione affirmed.

"If, by your standards, Slughorn is prejudiced and that makes you not fond of him, then I must be downright hateful to you."

"Do you care?" Hermione wished she could read what he was currently thinking, but his eyes revealed nothing.

"The devil may care," Draco muttered, his attention momentarily captured by a spotted gecko which had crept near the fire. "Anyway, Granger, you didn't have to throw in a consolatory word. I've never cared for Slughorn's Slug Club. You are mistaken when you say I was his greatest oversight, though. Someone else should definitely have made his way in that aptly-named club."

"Why? Who else…" Hermione broke off, seeing amusement in Draco's eyes. At once, she knew what he was thinking about. Ron, in their second year, trying to defend her with his broken wand and vomiting slugs as a result of it.

"Ron was bravely trying to defend me. It was the first time you called me Mud—"

"I know," Draco said.

"Why did you stop?" Hermione asked.

"Who knows?" The enigmatic half-smile was back on his face. _It was only ever you that I made sure to never miss the chance of insulting with that foul word. Never cared whether I called other Muggle-borns in a similar manner. It was only ever you I really tried to hurt each time. Only you, Granger. _

"The people making up the Gypsy Caravan, they are not all pure-bloods, are they?" Hermione asked. Draco seemed to appreciate all of them enormously.

"You've found a roundabout way to satisfy your curiosity, but it is a pointless question, Granger. If you must know, most of them are not pure-bloods. As you must have noticed, these people cherish the freedom that comes with experiencing real love. They'd never choose partners in order to preserve the purity of their lineages."

"You seem to approve of that, don't you?"

"Ingenious, Granger. Not such a pointless question, after all. You are really going to elicit an answer from me.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Want to play a game?" Draco drew out his wand. "Tell me what you perceive," he invited, not waiting for a response from Hermione.

Draco pointed his wand towards the sky. A fuchsia, glinting mist emerged from the tip of the wand. The smell of roses filled the air. Tiny goose bumps appeared across Hermione's arms as she remembered the queer hallucination she'd had when she'd been in Draco's room. The glittering mist twirled around Hermione and zigzagged playfully in the air before finally transforming into a familiar shape.

"It's a heart," Hermione affirmed.

"Correct." With another flick of his wand, Draco conjured another object which took its place inside the heart.

"A rock inside the heart?"

Draco aimed his wand towards the black stone. It gradually started to burn, shortly transforming into a dripping, pulsating piece of magma with a white flame.

"A beating heart!" Hermione exclaimed, delighted by the lovely piece of magic he was doing. She was still admiring the enchanting heart, when a cold blast of wind burst forth from Draco's wand, dispersing the sight.

"Couldn't you let it stay for a while longer?" a dismayed Hermione asked.

"I haven't found the elixir of life yet," Draco replied.

"What?" Hermione was perplexed.

'It was the answer to your question, Granger. That heart made of mist, do you know what it represents?"

What Draco had demonstrated suddenly made sense to Hermione. "It represents life," she said slowly. "Life swept away in a heartbeat."

"Right. What's purity of blood when nothing lasts? Not this life…" he said offhandedly, conjuring a set of wind chimes which clang a few lovely notes before dissolving in a snowy vapour. "Not this moment…"

"You are very quiet, Granger," Draco observed after some minutes had trickled by. "No expressions of delight over having gotten an answer?" he teased.

"Words are too inadequate sometimes," Hermione shared. "Ah, you've grown a beard overnight." Hermione laughed, pointing to a bearded dragon which had been attracted by the fire and, at the sight of the gecko already present there, it spread the spiny scales covering its throat in a threatening gesture.

"That's ten-year-old Sir Edwin Munro. He'll be insulted if you imply he resembles me. He's rather proud of his citrus-coloured skin and purple beard."

"Does that brave gecko, who doesn't seem to be intimidated at all, have a name as well?"

"No. It's a wild one. Sir Edwin belongs to Marcus, who picked him up when he was just about four inches long in a desert in Australia."

"The Gypsy Caravan doesn't stay in one place for long, does it?"

"Barely a week or so."

"Earlier you said you travelled with them for a while."

"Aren't you ashamed of taking advantage of me, Granger?"

Hermione look scandalised. "What? I'm not taking advantage of you!"

"You are probably thinking: the bloke is tired; let me try to extract as much information from him as I can."

"Of course not! I just wanted—wanted to know how you've –I mean, where you've been all this time…Are you very tired?"

"I wasn't being serious, Granger. You want a piece of advice?"

"What is it?" Hermione frowned. "But be aware that I'm only listening to it; I never accept anyone's advice on the face of it."

"You must not trust me," Draco said bluntly. "You shouldn't show you worry about an enemy. _He_ will certainly take advantage of it…Don't say I haven't warned you later on."

"Thank you for the piece of advice, but I am perfectly capable of defending myself."

"And how would you defend yourself from your own self?"

"Why are you speaking in riddles?"

"I mean, Granger, if you keep staring at me like that, you'll fall in love." The arrogant smile on his face dared her to contradict him.

_Could that be true?_ Hermione contemplated dazedly.

"Impossible," Hermione declared firmly after a while.

Draco laughed.

"Your eye…"

"What about it?' Hermione asked, her hand reaching to her face.

"Who blacked it? Before the start of the sixth year, Madam Malkin's shop. Remember?" Draco asked.

"Ah. Yes. You said you'd send them flowers, but I don't think you did," Hermione mocked. "No one hit me really. It was just an incident with a Punching Telescope. "

"I see."

"By the way, which flowers would you have sent?"

"You think flowers have meanings?"

"That's right! They do!" Hermione said, thinking of the flowers she received on her birthdays and the mysterious sender…

"I won't go with subtle meanings. Maybe I'd have sent a cursed bouquet laced with arsenic."

"Why would you do that? Wouldn't you have sent flowers to congratulate whoever you thought punched me? Arsenic would have poisoned them!"

"That would have been the aim. I wouldn't have had anyone hurting you…"

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"Other than me…" Draco completed.

"Such a bad man…I noticed—" Hermione begun tentatively.

"Fire away, Granger. You answered my question. I suppose you can have another go."

"Your left forearm, it—it doesn't have any marking. The—the Dark Mark couldn't have faded away so completely."

"It did. When the mark is burnt on your hand, it only becomes permanent when you kill someone with the Avada Kedavra Curse. I didn't kill anyone with it."

"Oh…"

"You still want to know why I can't sleep?"

"Maybe I can help you find a remedy. Special herbs and potions…If the reason you can't sleep is—"

"What would you do if I say that you are the one who has snatched all my peace?" Draco asked.

"I—I don't understand," a bewildered Hermione stammered.

Draco, who had until then been looking at her in an accusing manner, started laughing.

"You are never serious!" Hermione complained. She had almost believed his astounding statement!

"I can't sleep because every time I close my eyes, I see Nagini devouring the dead Charity Burbage," Draco confessed without warning.

Hermione, who had been far from expecting such an admission from him, stilled.

"It happened a while ago, but the image still makes me nauseous. I hear her terrified whimpers as she is held suspended in the air. I hear her unheeded pleas for mercy…I see her tears falling and gathering on the polished table at which I have had dinner countless times before," Draco briefly paused. "And then Voldemort killing her…Nagini swallowing her up whole. The most sickening sight of all is not Voldemort, not Bellatrix, not the Carrows, not any of the Death Eaters, not even Nagini—_never has been_.

"It is _me_. Me sitting there at that table, pretending not to be affected by whatever is happening."

"Draco," Hermione murmured sympathetically.

"The most revolting spectacle all throughout that war had at all times been me. I was my own nightmare. And yet," Draco continued, "I don't regret anything, and I probably wouldn't change anything even if I could go back. Doesn't make sense, does it?"

…

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. The waterfall appeared to have slowed down, as if delaying the moment it would throw itself into the deep blue sea and become one with it. The fire crackled less noisily. A general hush fell upon the surrounding trees.

_I was my own nightmare_. How terrible it must be to feel that way…Hermione had never compromised with her conscience. She'd always stood up for whatever she believed. What Draco had revealed was momentous. He'd bottled up his feelings with no one…not even a member of his family with whom he could have unburdened himself. He'd admitted to having hated no one more than he had hated himself. How unimaginably suffocating that must have been! And how straining it must have been to constantly hide all he felt from keen minds like Voldemort and Bellatrix.

She could understand his resolve to get away from everything he knew once the war was over. She could understand his urgency to lose himself to the world…to free himself from associations of the past, to get rid of expectations others had of him, to get away from the heaviness in his own mind and heart. She could understand his hunger to redeem himself, never in the eyes of the world—he didn't seem to care what others thought of him and he didn't look favourably upon those who indulged in blame games—but in his own eyes.

His current achievements were unparalleled, but Hermione's heart was writhing painfully in her chest. Those achievements betrayed how great was his hunger to free himself from the greatest cage of all—his own self; it betrayed how inordinately deep his feelings could run.

And he'd cut all ties with the past. He had not even contacted his family in six years. Did he resent her for being one of the shadows from the past? Did he hate her for badgering him about coming back…with the World Conference just days away?

If right now, with all that she'd come to know, she were to be sent back in the past, when they were at school together, what would she see if she looked at Draco? Only the haughty, arrogant bully? Hermione was realising she had been as blinkered as everyone else. Still, Draco had been so good—was still excellent— at not showing anything more than he'd ever want someone else to see. Besides, he had never been the type to welcome demonstrations of sympathy or pity on the part of anyone, if he were genuinely hurting.

Hermione remembered something from about eight years ago, when they'd been in their sixth year.

It had been on the night of Slughorn's Christmas party. She had made the mistake of attending the party with that twit Cormac McLaggen and, realising her mistake early on, she'd quickly escaped, running through the corridors, not really caring where she was going. She didn't go straight to the common room, fearing McLaggen would come to look for her there. After wandering aimlessly for more than half an hour, thinking about Ron and his aggravating behaviour with Lavender, she had found herself, quite strangely, outside on the stone Viaduct.

Draco had been there too, standing quite in the middle of the Viaduct, leaning with his back against the safety balustrade. His handsome face, illuminated by the flickering flames of iron torches, had been turned up towards the night sky. While Hermione had been dressed in an evening gown, Draco had still been wearing part of his Hogwarts uniform: the plain-white shirt and green and silver tie. He had been holding his cardigan and black robe in his hands. Hermione, not wanting him to be aware of her unwelcomed presence, had slowly started backtracking. The frosty breeze ruffled his silver blond hair. It had struck her as odd that he should stand there in that incredibly chilly night, seemingly unbothered by the cold.

Before that moment, she had never really examined his physical features. At any other time, either his word or actions had prevented her from really looking at him from the perspective of a girl; Draco Malfoy had always been thought of as a foe…someone to dislike, not a highly attractive boy as he had then appeared to her.

Staring at his slender form, Hermione had, for a faint minute, thought how vulnerable and lonely he looked. For a very faint second, she'd nearly let him become aware of her presence, but she had quickly restrained herself, knowing he would have reacted in a very hostile manner.

"He has such pale skin," she had told herself. This all the more stood out as the tip of his nose and cheeks had acquired a slightly reddened glow, adding to the air of vulnerability around him. _He'll surely catch a cold_, she had thought.

Not letting herself be bothered by this seldom-seen aspect of him, she had regained the Gryffindor dormitory, changed and gone to bed. However, upon closing her eyes, instead of meeting the solace of oblivion, she kept seeing the Slytherin Prefect standing there in the cold, looking so forlorn and pensive, with just the wind sighing in his ears. For a moment, she'd felt very angry, almost bitter, about the restrictions, boundaries and prejudices so customary of the world they lived in. She had been sad that despite wanting to, she had not been able to step forward—not to start any sort of conversation, but just to stand for a brief instant with him.

Her anger had made a solitary tear slide down her cheek. Shaken at her unusual feelings of sympathy for Draco Malfoy, she had forced herself to remember all the horrible things he'd said to her. The exercise had sufficed in wiping any ounce of pity she had been feeling. Sleep had come upon her, but not before she silently hoped it did not snow that night. Her sleep muddled mind had not been quite able to figure out the logic behind such a wish…

…

"It does," Hermione at last answered in a low voice. She knew now why Draco had not reacted well to her comment about him having changed. The ex-Slytherin prince had no need to change in the first place.

Draco stared at her, unconvinced.

"You wouldn't be you if things were any different, Draco. You have no reason to regret. Those suffocating sentiments and nightmares have in a way helped you free yourself from the cloying cage of rage you felt towards yourself. And you've freed yourself in such a grand, wonderful way. Your achievements as Ladon Hydras and _The Passion Serpent_ would not be rivalled anytime soon. You were rich before; are you owner of billions of Galleons now?"

"Think I'm beginning to get why your friends adore you, Granger."

"Is Draco Malfoy starting to count himself as one of Hermione Granger's friends?"

"It is the only thing I will _never_ do."

_Why do you keep saying that? _Hermione wanted to ask. He didn't seem prejudiced against her anymore. They were more than on just talking terms with each other; hadn't he just shared something exceedingly personal with her? Was it simply a conventional wizarding trait passed on in his blood; a Malfoy couldn't be friends, couldn't be close with a Muggle-born? Was it exhaustion which had led him to uncharacteristically share the reason behind his being sleep-deprived?

"Are you still Granger Know-it-all, jumping up to answer questions not even asked?" Draco nudged Hermione playfully.

Smiling, Hermione lightly elbowed Draco. "I suppose." A delicious tiredness was gradually suffusing into her limbs.

"Hey, Granger, wake up."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Hermione hastily apologised, very much shocked to have fallen asleep against Draco's arm. She hurriedly detached herself from him, at once feeling the cooler morning air brush against her skin as a black cashmere shawl slid down from around her shoulders. "Thank you for this," Hermione said as she rewrapped herself in the warm fabric. Draco merely shrugged.

Glancing at her watch, Hermione presumed she must have slept for about two hours. It was 05 30 A.M. Lighter streaks of cobalt and mauve had begun to pierce the sky.

"Did you not sleep at all?' she asked, concerned.

"I did, actually. For an hour or so. I suppose I ought to thank you for that. Your snores exorcised some of the demons in the Land of Nod."

"I don't snore!"

"As a token of gratitude, I'll let you experience the most unforgettable sunrise of your life," Draco said.

"What do you mean?"

He only smirked. "Come on," he said as he got up and extended a hand to Hermione. "Let's run!"

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked as they raced towards the ever rising western slope of the waterfall.

"Quicker, or we won't make it in time," he urged on. He hadn't relinquished her hand, and she had to use her other hand to ruck up her skirt so as not to trip over it.

A few minutes later, once on higher grounds, Draco abruptly stopped. Hermione hesitated when Draco started walking into the river.

"Draco, what—"

"C'mon!" he pulled her with him. Draco led the way to the perilous edge where the swift waters took a deep plunge and transformed into a stunning cascade.

"You are not serious?" Hermione pleaded, guessing what he had in mind.

"I am. To the count of three, Granger."

"Don't be crazy!"

"One!"

"I'm not doing this!"

"Two!"

"Stop!" Hermione beseeched frantically.

"Three!"

And they were falling, falling, falling. And screaming their lungs out. It was exhilarating, liberating. The air which rushed passed them seemed to have gone wild, mad! They hit the cool, dark-green water in a huge splash. Hermione met Draco's mirthful eyes under the water and restrained her own urge to break out laughing as they made their way to the surface.

"You, Mister, are not quite right in the head!" Hermione laughingly stated even as she gulped in air. "What happened? You are looking at me as if you are seeing me for the first time."

Without saying anything, and sustaining their locked gaze, Draco swam closer to Hermione. He grabbed hold of her shoulders and slowly turned her away from him.

A timid golden-red sphere was breaking into the eastern horizon, streaking the heavens with a cheerful orange. It soon transformed into a glorious, inflamed globe whose rays kissed the earth, imprinting its inhabitants with a warm, roseate glow. Birds were embarking upon their morning singing rituals. An elephant happily trumpeted in the distance.

_The most unforgettable sunrise of your life_, Draco had promised. The Slytherin prince had not lied.


End file.
